GENF.VIEVE  GIWIAME  GI\ANT 


ILLINOIS  HISTORY  AND 
LINCOLN  COLLECTIONS 


LIBRARY  0.  OF  I.  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT 


GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT 


O  sweet  and  strange  it  seems  to  me,  that  ere  this  day  is  done, 
The  voice  that  now  is  speaking  may  be  beyond  the  sun — 
Forever  and  forever  with  those  just  souls  and  true — 
And  what  is  life  that  we  should  moan  ?    Why  make  we  such  ado  ? 

— Tennyson. 


CHICAGO 
PRIVATELY  PRINTED  AT  THE  LAKESIDE  PRESS 

MDCCCXCV 


CONTENTS. 


PREFACE 


WRITINGS. 


PAGE. 
5 


I.  PARIS — TRIAL  OF  MARSHAL  BAZAINE 

II.  VENICE — YOUTHFUL  STUDIES 

III.  ROME  — FIRST  EXPERIENCES 

IV.  ROME — ART  AND  ITS  GLORIES     - 
V.  VENICE  —  LEGEND  OF  SAINT  MARK 

VI.  FLORENCE  —  THE  CARNIVAL 

VII.  JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY — A  REVIEW 

VIII.  MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF — AN  ANALYSIS 

IX.  A  FRENCHMAN  ON  THE  POTOMAC  —  AN  INTERPRE- 
TATION 

X.  EMILY  CRAWFORD  —  A  PORTRAIT 

XI.  LONDON  SOCIAL  LIFE 

XII.  FRANKFORT — GOETHE 

XIII.  BERNHARDT 

XIV.  VENICE  —  REVISITED 

XV.  AN  ADDRESS  AT  PARIS  (FRENCH)    - 

XVI.  AN  ESTIMATE  OF   COQUELIN  (FRENCH) 

LETTERS. 

SIR  FREDERICK  LEIGHTON  TO  MRS.  GRAN* 
'•MAX  O'RELL"  (PAUL  BLOUET)  TO  MRS.  GRANT 
WILSON  BARRETT  TO  MRS.  GRANT    - 
GEORGE  PARSONS  LATHROP  TO  MRS.  GRANT    - 
REMENYI  TO  MRS.  GRANT 
SIR  FREDERICK  LEIGHTON  TO   MRS.  GRANT 
MORRIS  MOORE  TO  MRS.  GRANT 
EMILY  FAITHFUL  TO  MRS.  GRANT 
JAMES  JACKSON  JARVES  TO  MRS.  GRANT 
EMILY  CRAWFORD  TO  MRS.  GRANT'S  MOTHER 
REVEREND  DAVID  SWING  TO  MRS.  GRANT'S  MOTHER 

MEMORIALS. 
TWENTIETH  CENTURY  CLUB   - 
STANDING  NOTE  IN  TWENTIETH  CENTURY   CLUB   BOOK 


66 

72 
Si 

99 
105 

112 

120 
I24 


127 
128 
128 
129 
129 
129 
130 

IS' 
I32 

132 
133 


137 
138 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


ITi  !••••  Joar«s,  TBBK  Wmmm — PI 


PREFACE. 


GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  JONES  was  born  in  the  old  Jones 
homestead,  on  Monroe  street,  Chicago,  inherited  by  her 
parents,  Fernando  and  Jane  Grahame  Jones,  from  her 
grandfather,  William  Jones,  one  of  the  founders  of  the 
city.  The  house  is  well  remembered.  It  stood  in  a  little 
off  the  street,  and  was  surrounded  by  a  spacious  and  beau- 
tiful garden,  in  the  center  of  which  was  a  great  willow 
that  had  been  planted  by  William  Jones  twenty- five  years 
before  the  little  girl  made  it  her  favorite  childish  resort. 
Within  its  sheltering  branches  she  read  her  story-books. 
Beneath  them  she  had  her  dolls'  house.  In  their  shadows 
she  took  her  afternoon  naps,  lulled  by  countless  choirs 
that  sang  among  the  boughs.  Her  childish  happiness, 
largely  due  to  her  sunny  disposition,  was  unalloyed.  She 
could  have  said  with  Wordsworth — 

"Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy." 

Gay,  frolicsome,  full  of  bright  caprices,  generous, 
witty,  no  special  effort  was  made  by  her  parents  to  force 
her  natural  gifts,  whose  abundance  and  versatility  were 
apparent.  She  read  by  intuition  only  good  books;  and 
she  enjoyed  every  kind  of  reading  that  was  wholesome. 
A  dislike  of  what  seemed  to  her  extravagant  or  depress- 
ing piety  induced  her  to  discard  Pilgrim's  Progress  after 
making  a  brave  struggle  to  like  it.  Her  formal  schooling 
was  not  begun  until  after  the  removal  of  her  family  to  the 
home  on  Prairie  avenue,  where  the  rest  of  her  life  was 
spent  during  the  years  not  devoted  to  study  in  Europe. 

5 


6  PREFACE. 

Her  first  school,  to  which  she  was  sent  when  about 
nine  years  of  age,  was  a  German  and  French  institute 
taught  by  Professor  Faulhaber,  on  Prairie  avenue,  near 
Sixteenth  street.  Subsequently  the  child  was  a  student 
with  Professor  Babcock,  on  Eighteenth  street.  Her  apti- 
tude for  languages  was  manifested  in  these  schools;  and 
her  early  attainments  enabled  her  to  be  one  among  the 
first  young  women  students  admitted  to  the  University  of 
Chicago  when  its  doors  were  parted  to  women  by  the 
liberal  president,  the  late  Dr.  Burroughs.  Genevieve 
remained  in  the  university  two  years,  keeping  second 
place  in  a  class  of  thirty  boys  studying  Greek.  Thence, 
well  equipped  in  classics  and  mathematics,  Genevieve  went 
to  Vassar,  where  she  immediately  arose  to  distinction  by 
reason  both  of  natural  talents  and  unusual  accomplish- 
ments. Her  health  began  rapidly  to  fail  and  at  the  end  of 
a  year  she  was  obliged  to  withdraw.  The  principal,  Miss 
Terry,  wrote  :  "  I  regret  that  Miss  Jones  must  leave  us, 
as  Vassar  would  have  been  very  proud  of  her.  She  is 
industrious,  intellectual  and  scholarly." 

After  an  interval  of  rest,  Genevieve  was  placed  in  the 
celebrated  pension  of  Madame  de  Lignieres,  Rue  de 
Chateaubriand,  Paris,  where  she  acquired  idiomatic  ease  in 
French  and  enjoyed  music  study  with  the  best  masters  of 
the  capital.  Still  seeking  health,  but  still  loving  study,  she 
was  taken  to  Italy,  where  she  became  deeply  engrossed 
with  Italian  literature  and  the  Romance  languages. 

It  was  during  the  stay  of  her  family  on  the  continent, 
and  especially  in  Italy,  that  Genevieve  Grahame  Jones' 
mind  fully  opened  and  that  her  character  assumed  its  inevi- 
table and  complete  mould.  She  inherited  an  unusual 
combination  of  gifts  and  a  singularly  efficient  and  felicitous 
spirit.  Her  youthful  mind,  rich  in  endowment  and 
supple  in  exercise,  was  distinctly  reflected  upon  her 


PREFACE.  7 

face.  Her  head  was  perhaps  a  little  larger  than  the  aver- 
age, and  was  poised  firmly  upon  a  beautiful  neck.  The 
brows  and  forehead  showed  reasoning  power  with  imagi- 
nation, a  poetical  appreciation  of  the  beautiful  and  a  cold 
intellectual  comprehension  of  the  logic  of  the  world.  The 
eyes  were  deep,  luminous  and  filled  with  the  brilliant  but 
reserved  light  that  indicates  sympathy  and  compassion. 
The  lips  were  full,  perfectly  bowed,  and  tender.  The  pro- 
file was  Hellenic ;  regular  as  if  molded  by  sculptor ;  and 
when  in  health  the  hues  of  cheek  and  forehead  combined 
the  tones  of  passionate  life  and  tranquil  thought  the 
Greeks  exemplified  and  worshipped. 

Much  of  her  personality  was  expressed  also  in  her 
voice.  Low  in  pitch,  full  of  easily  rising  and  falling 
melody,  it  was  always  responsive  to  her  eyes,  and  every 
play  of  feeling  that  appeared  in  them  was  echoed  in  it. 
It  could  be  playful,  caressing,  persuasive,  coy,  satiric, 
merry,  grave,  appealing,  impressive  for  truth  or  justice, 
inspiring  to  action,  or  convincing  to  judgment.  It  was 
like  a  perfect  musical  instrument,  an  adequate  organ  of  a 
harmonious  human  soul. 

Her  hands  were  those  of  a  character  already  described, 
dainty,  symmetrical,  long  in  the  fingers,  firm  in  the  palm, 
and  strong  at  the  wrist.  Their  adaptability  to  the  piano 
was  early  demonstrated  in  her  easily  acquired  command  of 
the  key  board ;  and  her  striving  for  the  logic  of  art  was 
shown  as  well  as  in  her  intuitive  grasp  of  principles  of 
counterpoint,  which  in  later  life  she  mastered  so  that 
improvisation  became  habitual.  Had  she  possessed  health 
equal  to  her  emotional  and  intellectual  faculties,  she  would 
have  made  a  place  among  musical  composers. 

Greek  in  its  devotion  to  art  and  esthetics,  her  intelli- 
gence was  no  less  Greek  in  its  quest  after  the  mysteries  of 
the  soul.  Unhampered  by  traditional  or  enforced  dogmas, 


8  PREFACE. 

Genevieve  Jones  penetrated  for  herself  the  doctrines  of 
philosophy,  and  read  widely,  freely,  with  catholic  disinter- 
estedness, without  prejudice  ;  and  she  found  intense  enjoy- 
ment in  what  may  be  called  the  comparative  and  analyti- 
cal methods  of  reading  metaphysics.  Too  original  and 
independent  to  accept  as  exclusively  correct  the  conclusions 
of  any  school,  too  fond  of  mental  liberty  to  become  a  dis- 
ciple of  a  single  speculator,  she  found  some  truth  in  many 
places  and  was  happy  in  all  precincts  of  the  mind  where 
sincerity  and  reason  dwelt.  Among  all  with  whose  theor- 
ies she  became  conversant,  Schopenhauer  was  her  favorite. 

An  intellect  so  ardent,  free  from  bigotries  of  every 
kind,  could  not  become  pedantic.  She  loved  everything 
that  attracted  either  for  beauty  or  truth ;  she  delighted  in 
romance  as  in  history,  in  drama  as  in  pictures,  in  society 
as  in  books.  The  social  vivacity  of  Paris  was  especially 
agreeable  to  her  inclination  for  study  of  human  character 
where  it  is  more  frank  and  more  various  than  in  the 
society  of  any  other  country.  The  conventionalities  of 
the  French  capital  are  so  much  more  liberal  than  those 
of  American  or  English  society  that  reflected,  as  they  are 
so  fully  in  the  fiction  of  Sand,  Balzac  and  the  large  com- 
pany of  later  genre  writers,  she  liked  to  look  at  their  reality 
of  which  French  literature  gives  a  remarkably  vivid 
counterfeit.  The  polish,  the  elegance,  the  versatility,  the 
emancipation,  the  verve  of  Paris,  fascinated  her  youth; 
while  her  deeper  sensibility  never  erred  in  measuring  its 
limitations  and  vagaries  by  authentic  standards. 

Genevieve  Grahame  Jones  was  married  to  George 
Rowswell  Grant,  July  20,  1881.  One  child,  Leslie,  was 
born  to  them,  December  28,  1886. 

It  was  Mrs.  Grant's  determination  to  spend  most  of  the 
rest  of  her  life  in  her  native  country  in  order  that  her 
daughter  should  grow  up  a  thorough  American.  As 


PREFACE.  9 

rapidly  as  little  Leslie  was  able  to  learn,  her  mother's 
delight  in  leading  out  her  faculties  became  a  supreme 
happiness.  The  little  girl  was  the  constant  companion  of 
grandmother  and  mother,  and  the  three  formed  a  group  of 
unusual  attractiveness  to  their  friends.  The  childhood  of 
the  mother  was  to  be  repeated  in  more  senses  than  one  in 
little  Leslie ;  for  both  father  and  mother  were  to  be 
called  away  before  she  was  old  enough  to  realise  the 
magnitude  of  her  misfortune. 

While  Mrs.  Grant's  health  permitted  her  to  take  an 
active  part  in  social  and  intellectual  affairs  in  Chicago,  her 
power  of  organization  was  manifested  in  the  foundation 
of  a  club  whose  purpose  was  a  reflection  of  her  own 
brilliant  and  resourceful  mind.  There  were  literary  clubs 
in  the  city;  but  there  was  none  having  the  authority  and 
aiming  at  the  purpose  which  was  to  be  found  in  the 
Twentieth  Century  Club,  named  and  organized  by  Mrs. 
Grant,  November  9,  1889.  The  object  of  the  club,  as 
defined  by  her  and  adopted  as  the  first  section  of  its  con- 
stitution, is  "  the  promotion  of  serious  thought  upon 
important  questions  of  art,  science  and  literature,  and  the 
entertainment  of  men  and  women  of  other  cities  of  this 
country  and  other  countries,  distinguished  by  reason  of 
aim  or  achievement,  in  their  respective  departments  of 
knowledge,  invited  to  meet  the  club  and  to  speak  to  it 
upon  the  subjects  with  which  they  may  be  especially 
identified." 

Arduous  labor  as  secretary  of  the  Twentieth  Century 
Club,  a  post  Mrs.  Grant  filled  for  five  years,  doubtless 
hastened  decline  of  her  vigor,  and  little  by  little  she  was 
obliged  to  withdraw  from  arrangement  of  its  details, 
while  she  maintained  a  virtual  direction,  respected  and 
observed  by  its  membership. 

That  Mrs.  Grant,  had   her  physical  strength  matched 


10  PREFACE. 

her  intellectual  force,  would  have  reached  high  distinction 
in  literature  and  society,  was  made  clear  not  only  by  her 
organization  of  this  society  and  by  many  other  evidences 
of  originality  and  executive  gifts,  but  also  by  her  remark- 
able composure,  rare  in  one  so  young;  and  by  the  depth 
and  sincerity  of  her  convictions  on  large  questions,  con- 
cerning which  she  inherited  broad  and  philosophical  views. 
She  wrote  and  spoke  French  so  spontaneously  that  when, 
at  the  international  congress  of  women  at  Paris  in  1878, 
Mrs.  Fernando  Jones,  who  was  to  speak,  was  compelled  to 
decline  on  account  of  indisposition,  her  place  was  taken 
by  her  daughter  in  a  manner  so  remakable  as  to  call  forth 
astonishment  and  praise.  An  account  of  this  incident  will 
be  found  elsewhere  in  'this  volume,  taken  from  the  con- 
temporary press. 

A  blow  from  which  Mrs.  Grant  never  rallied  befell 
September  6,  1892.  George  Rowswell  Grant,  accom- 
panied by  Grahame  Jones,  went  on  a  hunting  trip  to  Lake 
Miltonia.  On  the  morning  of  that  day,  being  on  the  lake 
duck  shooting,  he  was  thrown  into  the  water  by  the  cap- 
sizing of  his  boat  and  was  found  several  hours  afterward 
by  Grahame  Jones,  dead.  The  shock  was  too  severe  for 
his  wife,  already  greatly  reduced  in  health.  Mrs.  Grant 
was  removed  South  in  the  hope  of  improvement.  The 
medical  skill  of  the  United  States  was  sought  in  vain. 
She  passed  sweetly  away  February  27,  1894. 

This  book  is  intended  primarily  for  her  child.  It  is 
made  up  of  writings  by  her,  about  her  and  to  her.  This 
inadequate  sketch  of  her  personality  is  written  by  one  who 
knew  her  almost  from  her  cradle  to  her  grave,  and  who  is 
not  of  her  kin. 


WRITINGS. 


I.— PARIS. 

1873. 

EPISODE  IN  THE  TRIAL  OF  MARSHAL 
BAZAINE. 

Agitated  State  of  Society  Following  the  Franco-Prussian  War. 
— Conflicting  Opinions  Concerning  the  Political  Future  of 
France. — Imperialism,  Monarchy,  Democracy. — Influence  of 
the  American  Legation. — Startling  Scene  at  the  Trial  of 
Marshal  Bazaine.  (Extract  from  a  letter.) 

French  women  dress  in  black,  and  refuse  to  be  gay  ; 
the  shadow  of  the  war  still  rests  upon  their  hearts. 
France  mourns  over  her  betrayed  honor  and  her  daily 
humiliations.  The  summer  of  her  discontent  and  dread 
has  passed  into  a  winter  of  despair. 

The  election  of  Marshal  MacMahon  as  President  for 
seven  years,  with  the  inevitable  change  in  the  Constitution, 
endowing  him  with  unlimited  power,  has  appalled  the 
friends  of  the  Republic. 

The  Monarchists  have  made  many  saintly  pilgrimages 
and  performed  many  wonderful  miracles  this  summer  ; 
but  the  election  was  the  most  astonishing  of  them  all. 
When  M.  Thiers  read  the  message  he  said  of  the  Presi- 
dent: "  We  have  nothing  left  to  do.  This  message  will 
accomplish  all."  From  its  tone  of  tyrannical  impudence, 
and  the  disfavor  with  which  it  was  received  by  all  but  the 
Monarchists,  it  would  so  have  seemed. 

Better  nor  truer  men  never  lived  than  the  Republican 
leaders  of  France.  With  what  untiring  efforts,  self-sac- 
rifice, and  wisdom,  have  they  labored  to  save  the  Re- 

'3 


H  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

public.  M.  Thiers'  letter  to  the  Mayor  of  Nancy  aimed 
to  arouse  a  united  enthusiasm  in  all  ranks  of  the  people. 
He  said,  "  We  are  now  called  upon,  not  only  to  defend 
the  Republic,  but  every  principle  that  we  hold  dear.  If 
even  the  flag  under  which  our  soldiers,  whether  vanquish- 
ing or  vanquished,  have  covered  themselves  all  over  with 
glory,  remains  to  us,  it  will  be  but  the  sad  reminder  of 
the  sacred  principles  it  once  symbolized."  The  people 
responded  to  this  letter  by  immense  Republican  majorities. 
The  Count  de  Chambord  thought  of  the  spilled  blood 
and  the  ravaged  tombs  of  the  Bourbons,  and  he  feared  to 
accept  the  proffered  crown  from  the  hands  of  the  Mon- 
archists. The  King-makers  of  France  cared  not  whether 
Henry  V.  came  to  Paris  marching  under  the  white  flag 
or  the  tri-color;  but  the  soldiers  did;  and,  as  the  army  was 
the  prop  on  which  the  Throne  was  to  rest,  they  dare  not 
set  it  up. 

We  were  in  the  Assembly  the  day  that  Marshal  Mac- 
Mahon  was  unconstitutionally  elected  for  seven  years. 
The  excitement  was  something  fearful.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  "  Right  "  were  so  many  fiends  dragging  a  saint  down 
to  Hades.  It  was  quite  impossible  for  the  Republicans  to 
make  themselves  heard,  so  determined  were  the  "  Right " 
that  the  prolongation  should  be  passed  without  further 
discussion.  I  saw  the  sad  news  tied  under  the  wing  of 
the  little  carrier-pigeon  that  was  to  bear  it  to  Paris.  The 
Monarchists  had  sent  her  out  after  the  fearful  storm,  to 
bear  their  olive-branch  to  France. 

Henry  V.  said  he  could  not  inaugurate  a  strong  gov- 
ernment by  committing  a  weak  act,  but  the  Duke  of  Ma- 
genta proposes  to  inaugurate  a  popular  government  by 
insulting  the  dignity  and  intelligence  of  the  nation.  He 
demands  sufficient  power  to  rule  them  with  a  rod  of  iron, 
—  "a  power,"  he  says,  "  that  no  one  shall  have  the  right 


POPULARITY  OF  M.  THIERS.  15 

to  question;  and,  above  all,  power  to  control  the  lawless 
liberty  of  the  press."  When  Mr.  Lincoln  was  urged 
from  all  sides  to  suppress  the  traitorous  journals  during  our 
war,  he  answered,  with  the  inspiration  of  a  true  patriot, 
"No;  the  liberty  of  the  press  must  be  conserved,  or  the 
Republic  falls."  The  independent  press  is  the  life  of  the 
Republic,  as  the  army  of  the  Crown.  Every  day  the 
army  of  France  gains  strength.  Every  day  the  Repub- 
lican press  is  weakened  by  suppressions.  It  can  scarcely 
survive  the  reign  of  seven  years  allotted  to  the  Duke  of 
Magenta. 

The  night  after  the  election,  the  train  going  from  Ver- 
sailles to  Paris  bore  a  grand  old  man,  with  pale  face,  tear- 
ful eyes,  and  heavy  heart.  When  he  emerged  from  the 
compartment,  the  crowd  anxiously  awaiting  the  train  to 
hear  the  result  of  the  vote  recognized  him,  and  shouts  of 
"  Vive  la  Re'publique  ! "  and  "  Vive  Monsieur  Thiers,  her 
noble  defender ! "  filled  the  air.  Taking  him  in  their 
arms,  they  triumphantly  bore  him  to  his  carriage  and  fol- 
lowed him  to  his  residence,  in  spite  of  the  soldiers  who 
fill  the  streets,  and  have  strict  orders  to  allow  no  assem- 
bling of  the  people  together  upon  the  streets.  Political 
meetings  are  forbidden,  or  any  discussion  of  politics  in 
any  public  way. 

M.  Thiers  is  a  sincere  patriot,  who  considers  no  sacrifice 
too  great  to  save  the  Republic  that  he  loves  so  well. 
When  the  telegram  was  brought  to  him,  announcing  the 
surrender  of  Metz,  he  burst  into  tears,  and  exclaimed, — 
"My  God!  France  is  betrayed;" — and  to-day  all  the 
world  echoes  the  words,  and  all  are  convinced  that  France 
was  betrayed. 

Leading  through  the  park  from  the  palaces  to  the 
Trianon  is  a  magnificent  avenue,  shaded  by  tulip  trees. 
A  delightful  walk  of  twenty  minutes  took  us  from  the 


16  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

stormy  Assembly  to  the  trial  of  Marshal  Bazaine.  A 
line  of  soldiers  guard  the  massive  iron  gates  which  lead 
into  the  court  of  the  Great  Trianon,  where  Louis  XIV. 
spent  his  leisure  hours  in  revels  and  dissipations, —  plant- 
ing the  seeds  of  the  Revolution  of  1793.  We  nervously 
approached  the  formidably  guarded  gates,  as  we  were 
very  anxious  to  enter,  but  were  not  armed  with  the  neces- 
sary entrance  tickets. 

I  approached  one  of  the  guards,  handed  him  a  card 
with  "  United  States  Legation"  on  it  and  a"  Please  admit 
our  compatriots,"  signed  by  our  Minister,  which  had 
already  done  duty  on  numerous  occasions.  He  looked  at 
it,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  went  off  to  present  it  to 
his  superior  officer.  He  soon  returned,  and,  politely  invit- 
ing me  to  follow,  escorted  us  to  the  entrance  of  the 
grand  vestibule.  Here  again  the  card  had  to  be  submitted 
to  another  superior  officer.  In  a  moment  the  orderly  re- 
turned, handed  our  card  to  a  gay  young  soldier  in  wav- 
ing plumes,  gold-handled  sabre,  and  white  kid  gloves,  who 
escorted  us  up  through  the  large  audience  to  the  very 
front,  where  we  could  see  everybody  and  hear  every- 
thing. In  such  high  esteem  is  our  government  held  in 
France  that  a  card  with  "  United  States  Legation  "  on  it 
is  as  effective  as  was  the  magic  wand  of  Cinderella's  fairy 
godmother. 

The  grand  vestibule  is  a  beautiful  room,  ornamented 
with  massive  marble  columns,  frescos,  and  statues. 
Seated  in  a  circle  in  front  of  us  were  the  noted  Gen- 
erals who  compose  the  tribunal.  They  are  a  most  im- 
posing body,  with  grave,  earnest  faces,  and  military 
bearing.  The  effect  of  their  bright  blue  costumes,  gold 
epaulettes,  and  the  broad  scarlet  ribbon  passing  across 
the  breast  and  over  the  shoulder,  covered  with  decora- 
tions, is  very  picturesque.  In  the  centre  is  the  intellectual, 


DRAMATIC  INCIDENT  IN  THE  TRIAL.  17 

refined-looking  Due  d'Aumale.  Over  his  head  hangs  a 
very  large  and  fine  painting  of  Christ  upon  the  Cross. 
At  his  left  sits  the  accused,  with  white  hair  and  weather- 
beaten  face.  His  costume,  worn  and  faded,  is  in  sad  con- 
trast with  the  bright  new  ones  all  about  him ;  but  the 
decorations  that  glitter  all  over  it,  and  the  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor  that  adorns  his  breast,  speak  elo- 
quently of  services  rendered  and  glories  earned. 

As  we  entered,  M.  Villissum,  a  contractor  of  Metz, 
who  had  proposed  to  revictual  Metz,  and  was  angrily 
dismissed  by  Marshal  Bazaine,  was  giving  his  most  con- 
demnatory evidence.  The  testimony  finished,  he  begged 
leave  to  add  a  few  words,  and,  turning  to  the  audience, 
he,  in  a  most  emotional  manner,  said:  "There  are  some 
names  we  should  teach  our  children  to  loathe  and  de- 
test. There  are  some  names  we  should  teach  them  to 
revere  and  worship.  Let  us  teach  our  children  to  hold 
in  sacred  memory  the  names  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Army 
of  Metz,  who  only  desired  to  fight  and  to  die.  If  they 
had  had  a  General  worthy  of  them,  Metz  to-day  'would 
belong  to  France"  When  he  had  finished,  the  yellow, 
impassioned  face  of  the  Marshal  crimsoned,  whether 
with  rage  or  shame  we  know  not.  A  thrill  of  horror 
vibrated  through  the  room.  Simultaneously  the  vast 
audience  rose  to  their  feet  ;  bitter  tears  filled  every  eye ; 
exclamations  of  grief,  rage,  and  disgust  resounded  through 
the  assembly.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  armed  soldiery, 
perhaps,  the  trial  might  have  ended  then  and  there. 

Marshal  Bazaine  was  a  brave  soldier  and  a  capable 
officer,  but  he  was  an  Imperialist,  and  not  a  patriot.  He 
betrayed  his  country  to  save  his  Emperor,  and  lost  all.  It 
matters  little  to  him,  to  France,  or  to  the  world,  what  may 
be  the  decision  of  the  tribunal.  He  is  already  dead  and 
disgraced.  I  only  wish  that  to-day  all  the  enemies  of  the 


l8  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

Republic  were  as  dead  as  he.  But,  alas!  they  sit  in  the 
council  chambers  of  the  palace  at  Versailles,  like  the 
witches  in  "  Macbeth,"  concocting  a  broth  that  may  be 
more  potent  for  evil  to  France  than  was  the  witches'  stew 
to  the  unfortunate  Thane  of  Fife. 

In  the  center  of  the  beautiful  Place  de  la  Concorde  is 
the  grand  obelisk  of  Luxor.  Stretching  away  up  to  the 
heavens,  it  may  be  seen  from  all  parts  of  Paris,  and  is  the 
eternal  protest  of  the  French  people  against  royalty.  On 
this  very  spot,  2,500  persons  lost  their  lives  within  three 
months.  Eight  times  in  eighty  years  has  the  government 
of  France  been  overturned,  and  still  the  monarchical  jour- 
nals constantly  tell  us  that  the  Monarchy  is  the  only 
government  that  can  be  permanent  in  France.  Jules 
Grevy  says,  in  his  "Gouvernement  N^cessaire,"  that  there 
are  no  longer  in  this  country  even  the  elements  of  a 
constitutional  monarchy;  and  yet  these  eogalists  are 
determined  to  force  the  old  Legitimist  regime  back  upon 
the  people.  America  is  cursed  with  the  disease  of  emo- 
tional insanity,  and  France  with  the  King-making  lunacy. 


II.— VENICE^ 

1873. 

First  Delight  Over  Dante  Whom  the  Writer  Studies  in  the 
Original  with  an  Italian  Master. — The  Old  Loredan  Palace. 
— Byron  and  San  Lazzaro.  (Extract  from  a  letter  by  Gene- 
vieve  Grahame  Jones  at  fifteen.) 

Mamma  has  just  found  a  beautifully  illustrated  Dante. 
We  are  reading  it  with  a  Roman  poet  as  master.  I  now 
know  the  beauty  of  "  La  lingua  toscana  in  bocca  romana." 
Willie  has  a  genius  for  language.  He  quite  enjoys  reading 
with  us,  and  it  is  good  work  for  him.  I  am  enchanted 
with  Dante  in  his  Italian  dress.  One  loses  so  much  in  the 
translations.  I  am  overcome  by  the  beauty  of  the  Fifth 
Canto,  where  Dante  meets  Francesca,  and  sympathizes 
with  her,  and  she  replies  to  him: 

"  Nessun  maggior  dolore, 
Che  ricordarsi  del  tempo  felice 
Nella  miseria." 

What  could  be  more  exquisite  than  the  picture  of 
Dante  being  led  and  taught  by  the  great  master  Virgil  ? 
And  of  wisdom  coming  in  the  form  of  the  beloved  Bea- 
trice, when  Virgil  could  take  him  no  farther,  to  instruct 
him  in  the  more  subtle  mysteries  of  the  higher  life? 
Evidently  Dante  believed  in  the  superiority  of  woman.  I 
wish  you  were  here  to  read  Italian  with  us  in  the  morn- 
ings; and  study  the  Venetian  masters  in  the  afternoons 
(to  me  they  are  the  greatest  of  all),  and  then  to  row  about 
in  gondolas,  visiting  galleries,  palaces,  churches  and 
monasteries. 

19 


20  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

You  would  enjoy  living  in  this  old  Loredan  palace  of 
ours.  The  Loredans  gave  innumerable  doges  and  warri- 
ors to  Venice.  Their  proud  eyes  are  looking  upon  us 
from  countless  panels,  with  all  the  dignity  that  a  long  line 
of  glorious  ancestors,  velvet,  ermine,  and  consciousness  of 
duties  performed  can  lend  them.  The  frescos  are  by 
Tiepoli;  and  the  2OO-year-old  Turkish  rug  in  the  salon 
possesses  the  secret  of  perpetual  youth  and  fadeless  beauty. 
From  our  little  covered  balcony  we  see  gondolas  gliding 
by  while  the  sun  sets  in  a  veritable  sea  of  glory,  and  the 
moon  rises  out  of  the  silvery  Adriatic.  The  romance  of 
the  past,  and  the  beauty  of  the  present  encircle  us  in  an 
atmosphere  of  delight. 

To-morrow  we  go  sketching  with  a  party  of  artists 
and  other  friends,  to  the  different  islands.  We  have  such 
a  quaint  old  American  artist  here.  Mamma  says  he  must 
be  the  hero  of  Henry  James'  novel  "  The  Madonna  of  the 
Future."  He  has  been  working  over  20  years  on  a  copy 
of  Bellini's  "  Madonna,"  and  he  does  not  consider  it 
finished  yet.  If  it  were  possible  to  make  a  true  copy  of 
one  of  these  superb  creations  he,  with  his  talent,  sympathy, 
and  appreciation,  would  be  the  one  to  succeed. 

Yesterday  we  went  to  San  Lazzaro.  It  is  a  beautiful 
spot.  Byron  has  cast  a  spell  over  it,  and  we  talked  and 
thought  only  of  Byron,  and  how  he  must  have  enjoyed  the 
life  there.  The  monks  seem  to  venerate  his  memory,  as  if 
he  had  been  a  veritable  saint.  I  bought  a  colored  photo- 
graph of  him,  which  I  have  placed  on  my  dressing  table. 
It  seems  impossible  that  a  man  with  such  a  face  could 
have  been  so  dual.  I  like  to  think  of  him,  not  as  others 
think,  but  as  those  good  monks  do. 


III.— ROME. 

1873. 

FIRST     EXPERIENCES     IN    THE     ETERNAL 

CITY. 

A  Music  Master  who  Looks  Like  Apollo  and  Interprets  Chopin. 
— A  Nobleman  who  has  a  Title,  a  Wife,  Two  Children  and 
an  Income  of  Three  Francs  a  Day,  Earned  in  Teaching 
Italian. — A  Beautiful  American  Woman,  a  Physician,  Turns 
the  Head  of  a  German  Baron. — Visits  to  Churches. — Pius 
Ninth  a  Voluntary  Prisoner. — Lectures  at  the  University. 

I  have  at  last  escaped  from  my  school  prison  in 
the  rue  Chateaubriand,  from  my  keeper,  Madame  de 
Lignieres,  whom  the  French  used  to  call,  "  Napoleon 
in  petticoats,"  on  account  of  her  commanding  presence.  I 
do  miss  the  little  French  maid,  who  came  at  five  every 
morning  to  my  bedside,  and  said  in  such  sweet  tones, 
"  levez-vous,  mon  petit  soleil " — but  here  I  am  in  Rome, 
in  a  quaint  old  apartment  in  the  Corso;  and  although  we 
have  been  here  but  little  more  than  a  week,  I  already  have 
a  music  master  and  an  Italian  teacher.  My  music  master 
is  the  great  Sgambatti,  the  idol  of  Rome.  He  looks  like 
Apollo,  and  interprets  Chopin  divinely.  My  Italian 
teacher  is  what  the  English  would  call  "  a  decayed  gentle- 
man." He  is  a  nobleman,  has  a  title,  a  wife  and  two 
children,  and  an  income  of  three  francs  a  day  !  He  is 
very  handsome,  has  the  manners  of  a  courtier,  and  the 
bearing  of  an  aristocrat.  I  don't  mean  the  bearing  of  one 
of  our  self-made  aristocrats,  who  informs  you  of  his  late 
arrival  by  painting  a  coronet  on  his  carriage  door.  He 
sings,  writes  poetry,  and  plays  on  several  instruments, — 

21 


22  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

and  he  has  written  a  poem  to  my  "  beautiful  blue  eyes," 
which  he  says  remind  him  of  a  Madonna  primativa.  I 
enclose  you  a  copy  of  the  poem;  you  can  exercise  your 
Italian  on  it.  I  am  afraid  he  is  in  danger  of  getting  his 
congedo,  for  mamma  does  not  approve  of  sonnets  to  my 
eyes,  written  by  my  instructor,  even  though  he  be  a  noble- 
man in  distress. 

A  German  baron  who  saw  Dr.  S.  with  us  in  the  Vati- 
can a  few  days  ago  has  been  furnishing  us  with  excite- 
ment. It  was  evidently  love  at  first  sight.  He  then 
expressed  his  admiration  by  staring  a  great  deal,  al  modo 
Italiano.  Now  he  pursues  us.  Although  a  mild  and 
effeminate  man  in  appearance,  he  seems  to  be  endowed 
with  great  strength  of  pursuit.  Wherever  we  go,  he  goes; 
our  ways  seem  to  be  his  ways.  The  doctor's  blushes 
when  he  appears  on  the  scene  are  delicious.  She  says  it 
is  I  whom  he  admires,  but  that  he  looks  at  her  because  he 
is  afraid  of  mamma.  I  am  indifferent,  for  my  present 
ideal  is  in  marble.  I  am  in  love  with  a  statue.  I  pass 
all  my  spare  moments  before  the  cabinet  of  the  Meleager. 
What  grace,  beauty,  strength  and  intellect  combined ! 
Why  could  I  not  have  lived  in  ancient  Greece?  Think  of 
looking  at  a  German  baron  in  red  hair  and  spectacles,  after 
seeing  the  Meleager. 

You  would  pity  me,  I  am  so  busy.  I,  who  should  so 
like  to  sit  under  the  grand  trees,  in  the  beautiful  Borghese 
Gardens,  and  dream  all  day,  am  busy  from  early  morn  till 
dewy  eve  visiting  the  three  hundred  churches  in  Rome 
— and  not  one  that  does  not  contain  some  great  chef 
d^ceuvre,  and  something  beautiful  in  architecture  that 
must  be  seen. 

Yesterday  we  had  such  a  charming  drive  to  the  ruins 
on  the  ma  Appia.  It  pleased  me  to  see  that  the  finest 
and  most  celebrated  tomb,  (that  of  Cecilia  Metella,)  was 


AN  EPIPHANY  FAIR.  23 

erected  to  a  woman.  The  ancient  Romans  were  more 
appreciative  or  more  gallant  than  moderns.  We  returned 
home  by  the  Borghese  Gardens  and  the  Pincio  to  see  the 
sunset.  The  view  was  glorious.  The  last  rays  of  the  sun 
illuminated  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  and  merged  in  the 
sparkling  spray  of  the  fountains,  which  filled  the  air  with 
myriads  of  rainbows.  I  wonder  all  the  Romans  are  not 
artists  and  poets.  With  such  a  heritage  of  beauty,  they 
can  never  lack  cultivation.  Even  the  servants  have  none 
of  that  crudity  and  provincialism  that  one  might  often 
observe  in  our  best  society. 

The  6th  of  January  is  the  Italian  Christmas  (Epiph- 
any). Christ  was  born  to  the  Jews  on  Christmas,  but 
revealed  to  the  Gentiles  on  Epiphany.  On  the  evening  of 
the  5th  an  immense  fair  was  held  in  the  "  Piazza  Na- 
vona."  The  hundreds  of  booths,  filled  with  everything 
that  can  delight  the  heart  of  a  child,  were  crowded  with 
purchasers  till  long  after  midnight — in  fact  the  aristocracy 
do  not  begin  to  attend  till  half-past  u,the  hour  when 
the  rabble  begin  to  disperse.  Every  Roman  considers  it 
his  religious  duty  to  make  upon  this  occasion  all  the 
noise  possible.  Such  an  uproar  as  arose  from  that 
mass  of  mingled  sounds  of  tin  whistles,  clay  whistles, 
trumpets,  from  the  size  of  a  penny  horn  to  the  largest 
trombone,  drums  and  tambourines,  may  we  never  hear 
again. 

No  potentate  in  all  Christendom  has  so  fine  a  palace  as 
the  one  occupied  by  Pius  the  Ninth.  If  one  should  spend 
six  months  in  Rome  and  give  to  the  Vatican  each  day  the 
time  allotted,  it  would  scarce  give  an  opportunity  to  see  its 
museums  and  galleries.  The  admiring  wonder  experi- 
enced on  first  entering  the  piazza,  of  St.  Peter's  increases 
and  intensifies  at  every  step.  Everything  bears  the  im- 
press of  the  master-spirits  that  created  this  wonderful 


24  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

structure,  and  adorned  it  with  the  richest  gems  of  art  that 
the  world  possesses. 

The  Pope's  guard,  tall,  fine-looking  fellows,  in  the 
artistic  uniform  that  Michael  Angelo  designed  for  the 
guard  of  Sixtus  Sixth,  still  watch  over  the  Vatican ; 
where  Victor  Emmanuel's  voluntary  prisoner  resides  in 
secluded  splendor,  refusing  to  come  forth.  No  longer 
are  the  church  pageants  held  in  St.  Peter's.  The  huge 
bronze  statue  of  St.  Peter  was  not  dressed  in  canonical 
robes  on  Christmas.  The  public  are  no  longer  admitted 
to  the  service  in  the  beautiful  Sistine  Chapel.  This  year 
His  Holiness  will  not  bless  the  world  from  the  balcony 
of  St.  Peter's.  In  fact  he  will  do  nothing  to  attract  vis- 
itors to  Rome.  The  Court  of  the  Quirinal  is  in  mourn- 
ing for  the  King  of  Saxony,  the  father  of  the  Princess 
Marguerite;  hence  there  are  no  court  balls  or  grand  re- 
ceptions. The  Romans  are  complaining  bitterly  because 
they  are  not  amused,  and  are  pining  for  the  pageants  and 
amusements  the  Pope  used  to  give  them. 

But  next  month  the  Court  promises  to  assume  its 
wonted  gayety,  and  then  the  Carnival,  which  commences 
on  the  yth  of  February  and  lasts  till  the  I5th,  promises  to 
exceed  all  the  past  in  brilliancy.  The  Princess  Marguer- 
ite is  very  pretty  and  popular.  She  is  much  among  the 
people,  driving  every  day  upon  the  Pincio  and  the  Corso, 
attending  the  festivals,  fairs  and  places  of  amusement. 
The  new  government  is  doing  grand  things  for  Rome 
in  the  way  of  clearing  up  the  filthy  streets  and  improving 
the  drainage.  As  the  power  of  the  Pope  wanes,  the 
lights  before  the  shrines  of  the  Virgin  darken.  The  lamp 
that  used  to  burn  so  constantly  in  Hilda's  tower  no  longer 
illumes  the  sweet  face  of  the  Madonna.  Amusing  pictures 
are  exhibited  in  the  shop-windows  of  the  Pope  and  Vic- 
tor Emmanuel  standing  arm  in  arm,  the  Pope  looking 


INSTITUTE  FOR  ITALIAN  WOMEN.  25 

submissively  down,  while  the  King  whispers  knowingly 
in  his  ear. 

The  Italian  scholar  and  thinker,  Count  Serenzio  Ma- 
miani,  resumed  his  lectures  yesterday  (Sunday)  at  the 
Roman  University.  The  lecture  was  upon  the  "  Theory 
of  Progress."  He  condemned  the  modern  cosmogonists, 
who,  instead  of  aiding  progress,  most  fiercely  oppose  it. 
He  refuted  the  ideas  of  Hegel  and  Strauss.  He  classified 
the  different  forms  of  progress  under  liberty  and  activity 
(which  he  described  as  inseparable — as  without  liberty 
activity  was  impossible) ;  art,  morality,  science  and  posi- 
tion; and  gave  as  a  general  definition  of  progress  a  suc- 
cessive amelioration  of  our  being.  The  theory  was 
beautifully  and  practically  illustrated  by  three  pretty 
young  Italian  ladies  who  were  stenographically  reporting 
the  lecture. 

On  the  6th  of  January  a  woman's  institute  —  "  The 
Institute  Superiore  Femminile "-  —  was  inaugurated. 
Many  distinguished  Italians  were  present.  Speeches  were 
made  by  Count  Mamiani,  Count  Pianciani  and  Signora 
Fua  Fusinato,  the  talented  lady  who  is  to  take  charge  of 
the  Institute.  Count  Pianciani  said:  "It  is  education 
alone  that  can  elevate  woman  and  bring  about  her  true 
emancipation."  We  are  glad  of  the  Roman  University 
for  Women,  and  trust  that  it  may  in  time  bring  about  the 
needed  reforms.  We  think  that  when  young  girls  cannot 
safely  walk  a  block  alone  at  any  hour  of  the  day,  as  is  the 
case  in  France  and  Italy,  the  times  are  wofully  out  of 
tune.  If  art  refines  and  priests  teach  morality,  how  can 
these  people  be  so  depraved?  Thank  heaven  for  the 
Anglo-Saxons!  for,  if  they  are  not  divine,  they  are  at 
least  human. 

But,  lest  this  letter  should  be  an  exception  to  all  else 
under  the  sun,  I  must  bring  it  to  an  end. 


IV.— ROME. 

1874. 
ARCHITECTURE,     SCULPTURE,    PAINTING. 

Wonderful  Domes  Suspended  in  Air. — Altars  of  Jasper,  Ame- 
thyst, Onyx,  Malachite,  Agate,  Porphyry,  Alabaster,  Lapis 
Lazuli. — Pagan  Deities  and  Christian  Devotion. — From  Vat- 
ican to  Paradise. — Beatrice  Cenci  and  Guido  Reni. — Shelley. 
— Keats. — Raphael  and  the  Farnesina. 

We  recently  participated  in  the  great  double  festa  of 
the  Purification  of  the  Virgin  and  her  timely  interposition 
to  save  the  Eternal  City  from  a  terrific  earthquake  that 
was  shaking  her  very  foundations  and  threatening  her 
immediate  and  utter  annihilation.  Business  was  piously 
suspended,  and  prayers  and  pleasures  were  the  order  of 
the  day.  In  the  morning  all  Rome  went  to  Mass  ;  in  the 
afternoon,  gorgeously  attired,  to  the  beautiful  Pincian, 
and,  in  the  evening,  to  the  opera  and  theater,  both  of 
which  are  very  inferior.  We  spent  the  day  among  the 
churches,  and  such  churches;  so  rich  in  architectural 
grandeur  and  artistic  beauty,  with  their  wonderful  domes 
suspended  in  air,  magnificent  arches  resting  on  marvelous 
columns  hewn  from  a  single  block  of  most  exquisite  mar- 
ble, and  mosaic  floors  too  beautiful  for  mortal  feet  to 
tread  upon.  Altars  of  jasper,  amethyst,  onyx,  malachite, 
agate,  porphyry,  oriental  alabaster,  and  lapis  lazuli;  fres- 
cos and  paintings  of  madonnas,  saints,  and  angels;  statues 
of  apostles  and  martyrs;  bas  reliefs  of  conversions  and 
baptisms,  all  so  beautiful,  and  impressive  as  to  make  one 

26 


A  MEMORIAL  MASS.  27 

fancy  the  new  Jerusalem  already  gained,  till  the  impor- 
tunities of  some  starving  beggar,  or  the  monotonous  chant 
of  the  church  service  brings  us  rudely  back. 

In  St.  Peter's  we  always  stop  before  the  Chapel  of  the 
Virgin,  to  look  npon  the  beautiful  Pieta,  sculptured  by 
Michael  Angelo  when  he  was  but  twenty-five  years  of 
age;  and  then  we  sit  awhile  watching  the  faithful  kissing 
the  toe  of  St.  Peter.  This  same  bronze  statue  was  long 
ago  worshiped  in  the  Temple  of  Jupiter  Capitolinus. 
Then  it  was  a  god,  and  devoted  pagans  knelt  tremblingly 
before  it.  Since  it  has  occupied  its  sanctified  niche  in  St. 
Peter's,  Christian  lips  have  worn  the  bronze  foot  quite 
away.  The  one  hundred  and  forty-two  lamps  burn  as 
constantly  before  the  tomb  of  St.  Peter  as  did  the  sacred 
fire  on  the  altar  of  Jupiter  Capitolinus.  St.  Maria  Sopra 
Minerva  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  churches  of  Rome. 
It  is  Gothic  in  form,  and  stands  on  the  spot  where  once 
stood  the  temple  of  the  Goddess  Minerva.  As  we  en- 
tered a  catafalque  stood  in  the  center  nave,  covered  with 
grinning  skulls  and  skeletons;  before  one  of  the  side 
chapels  knelt  twelve  persons,  holding  immense  lighted 
candles,  while  priests  were  chanting,  swinging  incense, 
flourishing  candles,  and  ringing  bells.  It  was  a  mass  for 
the  repose  of  some  poor  soul  that  was  still "  marching  on." 
In  front  of  the  high  altar  stands  Michael  Angelo's  exquisite 
statue  of  Christ.  A  woman — old,  shriveled,  shivering  in 
scanty  rags,  a  few  leaves  of  spinach  gathered  up  in  her 
tattered  apron,  hobbled  in,  and,  kneeling  before  the  Christ, 
seemed  lost  in  prayer.  As  she  looked  up  to  Him  who 
said,  "  Come  unto  me  all  ye  who  are  weary  and  heavy 
laden,"  the  lines  in  the  marble  face  seemed  to  soften  with 
pity  and  beam  with  compassion.  Poor  old  woman!  She 
had  neither  incense  nor  candles,  but  she  prayed  to  One 
who  did  not  exact  propitiatory  offerings.  We  looked 


28  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

from  the  one  group  to  the  other,  and  we  said :  "  Santa 
Maria  Sopra  Minerva"  (Mary  above  Minerva).  Pagan 
and  Christian,  there  it  was  on  this  twice  dedicated  ground. 

Santa  Maria  Maggiore  was  built  and  dedicated  to 
Mary  in  accordance  with  a  vow  to  build  a  church.  A 
miraculous  fall  of  snow  on  the  I2th  of  August  indi- 
cated where  the  church  should  be  erected.  On  each 
anniversary  white  flowers  fall  all  day  like  snowflakes 
from  the  dome  in  commemoration  of  the  miracle.  In 
the  crypt  of  the  confessional  of  this  church  are  preserved 
four  boards  of  the  Bethlehem  manger  that  once  held 
the  Savior  of  mankind.  Bronze  doors  and  golden 
angels  guard  the  entrance,  and  twenty-four  lamps  burn 
night  and  day  before  it.  This  confessional,  built  in  imi- 
tation of  the  one  in  St.  Peter's,  is  to  be  the  last  resting 
place  of  His  Holiness,  Pius  IX.  Its  richness  and  beauty 
no  pen  can  describe.  Metaphorically  speaking,  the  Pope 
will  but  exchange  Eden  for  Paradise  when  he  leaves  the 
Vatican  for  his  tomb  in  the  confessional  of  the  magnifi- 
cent Santa  Maria  Maggiore.  A  gloomy,  mysterious  old 
church  stands  over  the  Mamertine  dungeon,  where  the 
brutal  Nero  sent  Peter  and  Paul  to  suffer  for  the  faith 
that  was  in  them.  Unbelievers  may  come  to  Rome  and 
prove  in  the  very  teeth  of  priests  and  Pope  that  St.  Peter 
was  never  in  Rome,  but  who  will  believe  them  when  they 
can  see  the  impress  of  his  features  on  the  stone  of  his 
prison  wall  and  taste  of  the  miraculous  spring  that  flowed 
at  his  bidding  to  baptize  the  prisoners  converted  by  his 
prayers  ?  A  staircase  now  leads  to  the  cell,  but  the  hole 
still  remains  through  which  the  Apostles  were  lowered 
with  ropes  into  this  horrible  place,  there  being  no  other 
means  of  entrance  or  exit. 

At  the  foot  of  the  high  altar  in  St.  Peter  (in  Mon- 
torio)  sleeps  Beatrice  Cenci.  Although  she  was  a  mar- 


SANTA  SCALA.  29 

tyr,  no  tombstone  nor  tablet  marks  the  spot.  Count  Cenci 
has  a  letter  written  from  her  prison  to  a  Roman  lawyer, 
beseeching  him  to  defend  her,  and  to  tell  the  story  of  her 
wrongs  that  the  world  might  not  hold  her  in  detestation ; 
but  an  abler  advocate  than  ever  stood  before  judge  or 
bar  came  out  of  her  dreary  cell  on  Guido  Reni's  canvas 
the  night  before  her  execution.  Who  that  has  seen  that 
angelic  face  in  the  Barberini  palace  can  ever  forget  it? 
All  the  history  of  her  sad  life  is  in  that  exquisite  picture 
that  has  exonerated  the  maiden  and  immortalized  the 
artist.  In  the  Pantheon,  on  the  spot  selected  by  himself, 
is  the  monument  of  Raphael.  On  one  of  the  panels  is 
Cardinal  Bembo's  beautiful  epitaph:  "This  is  that  Ra- 
phael, who  living  the  Great  Parent  feared  to  be  overcome; 
and,  dying,  to  die!  "  Well  might  the  Italians  fill  with 
sobs  and  lamentations  the  immense  Pantheon  as  they  looked 
from  the  dead  artist  to  his  sublime  "  Transfiguration," 
that  hung  over  him  and  feel  that  his  glorious  art  was  in 
the  coffin  with  him,  and  that  both  were  gone  from  them 
forever. 

Just  opposite  the  cathedral  of  Saint  John  Lateran,  the 
grandest  church  of  Rome,  save  St.  Peter's,  is  the  Santa 
Scala,  upon  which  Christ  descended  when  he  left  the 
presence  of  Pontius  Pilate.  Dozens  of  devotees  were 
slowly  toiling  up  it,  on  their  knees,  on  that  festive  day, 
fervently  kissing  the  one  spot  of  blood  that  dropped  from 
the  bleeding  wounds  made  by  the  scourging.  A  pretty 
hall  was  built  and  adorned  to  receive  the  Santa  Scala.  At 
the  base  are  statues — one  of  Judas  in  the  act  of  giving 
the  kiss  of  betrayal,  the  other  the  Savior  leaning  on  the 
beloved  disciple.  Fortunately  those  who  toil  wearily  up 
on  their  knees  may  descend  on  their  feet  by  a  stair  built 
for  that  purpose. 

The  padrona  of  our  apartments  tells  us  that  she  has 


30  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

made  this  pilgrimage.  We  could  hope,  in  behalf  of  any 
compatriot  that  might  chance  to  fill  these  vacant  chairs 
when  we  are  gone,  that  if  ever  she  ascends  again  she 
may  go  up  higher  and  not  descend  by  the  profane  stairs 
on  the  other  side. 

To-day  we  drove  to  the  Protestant  cemetery,  just  out- 
side the  city  walls.  We  wandered  about  till  we  came  to 
a  grave  with  a  plain  white  marble  slab,  on  which  was 
engraven  "  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley."  Beautiful  white  hya- 
cinths and  lilies  of  the  valley  had  been  freshly  strewn 
over  the  slab. 

In  the  little  old  cemetery  just  outside  the  walls  of  the 
new,  is  the  grave  of  Keats,  on  which  the  dirt  lies  as 
loosely  as  if  placed  yesterday.  A  border  of  box  or  myr- 
tle encloses  it,  and  on  the  small  white  headstone  one  sor- 
rowfully reads :  "  Here  lies  all  that  was  mortal  of  a 
young  English  poet,  who,  on  his  death-bed,  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  heart  at  the  malicious  power  of  his  enemies, 
said  let  these  words  be  engraven  on  my  tombstone :  '  Here 
lies  one  whose  name  was  writ  in  water.'" 

Returning  from  the  cemetery  we  stopped  before  an 
old  house  near  the  Farnesina  palace.  Long  we  looked 
upon  a  little  gothic  window  in  the  top-most  story,  just 
under  the  eaves.  Out  of  this  window  Raphael  used  to 
look  upon  the  handsome  daughter  of  the  baker  as 
she  sat  at  her  sewing  in  the  court  below.  The  bake 
shop  is  still  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  old  building. 
The  little  bakeress  of  the  court  is  the  lovely  "  Forna- 
rina  "  of  the  Uffizzi  gallery  in  Florence.  It  was  in  this 
little  room  with  the  Gothic  window  that  Raphael  lived 
while  he  was  painting  the  celebrated  "Triumph  of 
Galatea,"  in  the  Farnesina  Palace.  It  was  in  reply  to  a 
complimentary  letter — received  from  Count  Castiglione, 
commenting  on  the  grand  triumph  he  had  achieved  in 


MRS.  JAMESON'S  GRIEF.  31 

the  Galatea — that  Raphael  wrote  his  quaint  letter,  from 
which  we  extract: 

"I  should  hold  myself  a  great  master,  were  there  in 
Galatea  the  half  of  the  beauties  that  your  Lordship  as- 
cribes to  it.  To  paint  a  beautiful  woman,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  see  several,  and  to  have  your  Lordship  pres- 
ent to  choose  the  most  beautiful.  But  good  judges  and 
beautiful  women  being  rare,  I  avail  myself  of  certain 
ideals  that  are  born  of  my  imagination.  If  these  ideals 
possess  something  of  artistic  excellence,  I  know  it  not, 
but  endeavor  always  to  attain  it." 

Each  time  we  go  to  the  Museum  of  the  Vatican  to  see 
the  Laocoon,  Apollo  Belvedere,  Perseus  with  the  head  of 
Medusa,  and  the  beautiful  kneeling,  or  Vatican  Venus,  we 
go  into  the  room  of  the  Torso,  always  curious  to  find  the 
solution  of  Mrs.  Jameson's  grief.  You  know  she  tells 
us  that  she  can  never  look  upon  the  Torso  without  shed- 
ding tears.  We  can  readily  see  why  sculptors  and  artists 
should  spend  hours  studying  the  mutilated  Hercules  in 
repose,  but  why  Mrs.  Jameson  should  weep  over  it  is 
quite  beyond  our  comprehension.  We  are  convinced 
there  was  no  "  method  in  her  madness."  As  often  as 
may  be  we  visit  the  grand  gallery  of  the  Borghese  Palace, 
to  see  Raphael's  exquisite."  Entombment;"  and  the  Vat- 
ican, to  admire  with  ever-increasing  wonder  the  "  Trans- 
figuration," "  Madonna  di  Foligno,"  and  the  "  Coronation 
of  the  Virgin."  If  ever  inspiration  visited  earth  it  rested 
in  the  brain  and  dropped  from  the  brush  of  Raffaello 
Sanzio. 

We  were  favored  a  few  days  ago  with  an  invitation 
to  visit  the  choicest  small  collection  of  pictures  in  Italy, 
containing  the  celebrated  Apollo  and  Marsyas,  and  a 
portrait  of  Dante,  by  Raphael,  and  a  Holy  Family,  by 
Michael  Angelo.  The  Apollo  Marsyas  is  one  of  the 


32  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

most  exquisite  of  Raphael's  pictures,  and  rare  on  account 
of  its  being  one  of  the  two  easel  pictures  painted  from 
mythical  subjects,  the  other  being  the  "  Three  Graces," 
owned  by  Lord  Dudley.  "  The  Holy  Family,"  by 
Michael  Angelo,  is  wonderful  in  composition  and  execu- 
tion, and  being  one  of  the  four  easel  pictures  in  existence 
by  his  hand,  is  as  rare  as  it  is  beautiful.  If  we  had  but 
these  three  paintings  in  Chicago,  we  should  have  the 
finest  art  gallery  in  America.  Much  is  said  and  more 
written  about  the  civilizing  and  refining  influence  of  art. 
Italy  is  one  grand  school  of  art,  but  where  is  the  refine- 
ment that  should  flow  from  its  teachings?  One  Ameri- 
can "  Poor  Man's  College "  would  do  more  to  civilize 
these  people,  that  wallow  in  ignorance,  fester  in  rags, 
and  starve  in  hovels,  than  all  the  beautiful  statues,  sub- 
lime paintings,  and  grand  churches  that  adorn  Italy  and 
pauperize  her  people.  A  civilization  that  is  based  on  a 
defrauded,  prostrated  humanity  must  "  dissolve  like  the 
baseless  fabric  of  a  dream."  A  people  who  would  build 
a  tower  that  should  reach  the  skies,  must  construct  it  in 
symmetrical  accordance  with  the  designs  of  the  Great 
Architect,  in  whom  all  progress  has  its  origin,  center, 
and  ultimatum. 


V.— VENICE. 

1879. 
LEGEND   OF   SAINT    MARK. 

All-Pervading  Spirit  of  the  Past.— The  Old  Sexton  of  San  Marco 
Relates  the  Chronicle  to  the  Young  American  Traveler. — 
Perils  and  Adventures  of  the  Venetians  in  Quest  of  the 
Tomb  of  the  Saint. — Stratagem  to  Deceive  the  Saracens. — 
Marbles  from  the  Orient. — Venetian  Glass  and  Lace. 

The  beings  of  the  mind  are  not  of  clay; 
Essentially  immortal,  they  create 
And  multiply  in  us  a  brighter  ray 
And  more  beloved  existence. 

These  lines  of  Byron's  are  constantly  recurring  to  us 
as  we  wander  through  the  old  towns,  and  especially  in 
Venice,  where  they  were  written.  The  spirit  of  the  past 
is  ever  with  us,  whether  we  glide  through  the  lagoons  in 
the  gondola,  surrounded  on  every  side  by  the  decaying 
palaces  of  the  once  powerful  nobles  of  Venice,  or  ramble 
through  the  narrow  streets  where  the  strangeness  and 
beauty  of  the  architecture  speak  to  us  of  another  age. 
What  matters  it  to  the  stranger  under  the  enchantment  of 
the  spell  that  takes  possession  of  him  when  his  foot  for 
the  first  time  presses  the  classic  soil  of  Italy,  what  her 
religion  may  be  or  her  politics,  whether  she  keeps  pace 
with  what  we  call  progress,  or  whether  she  is  lagging 
behind?  Every  step  he  takes  is  retrospective,  and  at  each 
turn  some  sparkling  gem  shines  out  at  him  from  the  dust 
of  ages.  Everywhere  the  tracings  of  vanished  hands 
charm  and  bewilder.  When  in  our  own  country  we  hear 
much  of  the  ignorance  of  the  common  people  of  Italy,  but 

33 


34  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

the  barefooted  Italian  peasant  knows  more  of  art  than 
many  a  professional  artist  in  less  favored  lands,  and  each 
old  sexton  who  opens  a  church  door  and  reverently  draws 
away  the  curtain  which  protects  from  dust  some  chef 
d'ceuvre^  is  an  encyclopedia  of  history,  mythology,  and 
legendary  lore. 

How  many  hours  have  I  passed  before  some  grand 
masterpiece  in  a  dim  old  church,  listening  to  legends 
like  the  following  one,  of  the  ancient  customs  and 
superstitions  of  Venice:  "You  must  know,  caret  Signor- 
ina,"  said  the  old  sexton  of  San  Marco,  as  he  followed  me 
about,  his  wooden  shoes  pattering  on  the  marble  floor, 
lifting  his  black  cap  from  his  bald  pate  before  each  shrine 
of  saint  or  madonna,  "  that  we  Venetians  have  always 
been  a  very  religious  people,  and  it  was  probably  for  this 
reason  that  Venice  was  chosen  to  be  the  resting  place  for 
the  sacred  bones  of  St.  Mark.  It  was  an  old  legend  that 
every  peasant  woman  told  her  child,  that  every  sailor 
dreamed  of  in  his  swinging  hammock,  and  that  every  cap- 
tain thought  of  as  he  guided  his  ship  toward  the  Orient, 
that  one  day,  by  the  aid  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  the  body  of 
St.  Mark  would  sanctify  this  city  of  the  sea,  and  that  his 
spirit  would  hover  over  and  inspire  the  Venetians  to  new 
deeds  of  valor  and  of  glory.  The  Doge  as  he  blessed  the 
hero  parting  from  our  shores  to  seek  new  fame,  always 
said,  *  Remember  the  holy  body  of  St.  Mark,'  but  no  hero 
brought  it  back,  for  the  good  God  always  chooses  humble 
instruments  to  carry  out  His  will.  Thus,  one  morning, 
two  merchant  ships  quietly  left  Venice,  their  captains 
never  dreaming  of  the  great  honor  in  store  for  them.  One 
was  commanded  by  Bono,  of  Malamocco,  an  island  which 
the  Signorina  knows  is  now  deserted;  the  other  by  Reus- 
tico,  of  Torcello.  As  soon  as  they  arrived  in  Alexandria, 
according  to  the  custom  of  all  Venetian  sailors,  they  has- 


THE  SARACENS  AND  ST.  MARK.  35 

tened  to  the  shrine  of  St.  Mark  to  give  thanks  for  their 
arrival  and  pray  for  a  safe  return.  They  found  a  great 
number  of  f  rati  gathered  about  the  tomb  of  the  saint,  some 
kneeling  in  silent  prayer,  others  speaking  to  each  other  in 
excited  whispers.  On  inquiry  our  sailors  heard  from  the 
holy  fathers  that  the  Saracens  had  entered  the  church  and 
seeing  so  many  costly  and  precious  marbles  had  carried 
them  away  to  use  them  in  the  construction  of  a  palace 
being  built  for  the  Caliph  of  Alexandria.  You  may 
imagine  the  grief  with  which  our  sailors  heard  that  the 
holy  temple  had  been  desecrated  by  the  hands  of  infidels. 

"  Nevertheless,  though  overcome  by  emotion,  guided  by 
the  Holy  Spirit,  the  thought  came  to  them  that  they  might 
thus  obtain  the  precious  treasure  so  much  coveted  by  every 
true  Venetian.  Therefore,  instead  of  allaying  the  fears 
of  the  priests,  they  increased  them  by  assuring  them  that 
the  Saracens  could  never  be  satisfied  with  what  they  had 
taken  until  they  possessed  not  only  all  the  treasures  in 
marble  and  gold  of  the  temple,  but  also  the  priceless  body 
of  the  saint.  When  they  had  dwelt  upon  this  point  long 
enough  thoroughly  to  arouse  and  frighten  them,  they  sug- 
gested to  them  that  the  moment  had  arrived  when  the 
prophecy  revealed  to  St.  Mark  by  the  angel  of  his  vision, 
that  his  body  should  one  day  rest  in  Venice,  was  now 
about  to  be  fulfilled,  and  that  undoubtedly  the  Holy  God 
had  permitted  these  Saracens  to  enter  the  sacred  temple 
that  his  promise  to  his  saint  might  be  realized,  and  that 
plainly  it  was  their  duty  to  entrust  it  to  them  to  carry  to 
Venice,  where  every  heart  was  ready  to  receive  it  and 
every  arm  to  guard  it.  After  much  consultation  and  great 
hesitation  the  priests  decided  that  this  was  the  only  safe 
course  to  pursue.  The  body  was  secretly  taken  by  night 
from  its  resting  place,  and  that  of  St.  Claudius  substituted. 

"You  can  imagine  the  exultation  that  now  took  posses- 


36        GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

sion  of  these  two  humble  sailors  when  they  saw  that  the 
Blessed  Virgin  had  chosen  them  to  bring  joy  to  every 
home  in  Venice,  and  good  fortune  and  everlasting  pros- 
perity to  their  beloved  city.  They  pictured  to  themselves 
their  entry  into  the  city  and  the  greetings  they  should 
receive  from  young  and  old,  rich  and  poor,  when  the  glad 
tidings  should  be  known,  that  after  so  many  expeditions 
sent  out  and  so  many  years  of  waiting,  when  they  were 
least  expecting  it,  the  holy  treasure  was  in  their  midst. 
But  they  were  soon  awakened  from  their  bright  dreams 
by  the  thought  of  how  they  should  elude  the  vigilance  of 
the  Saracens,  for  nothing  was  allowed  to  pass  out  of  the 
city  without  rigid  examination.  Once  more,  aided  by  the 
blessed  Virgin,  the  Venetians  triumphed  over  their  infidel 
enemies,  for  the}'  bethought  themselves  of  the  repugnance 
of  the  Mussulmans  for  the  flesh  of  the  despised  swine,  and 
taking  an  old  basket  they  placed  the  holy  body  of  the 
saint  in  the  bottom,  covered  it  with  herbs  and  put  above  it 
a  quantity  of  this  repulsive  flesh.  The  stratagem  suc- 
ceeded, for,  as  soon  as  the  Mussulmans  saw  it  they  turned 
away  with  disgust  and  allowed  it  to  pass  out  without  further 
examination.  Once  their  precious  burden  was  safely  on 
board  the  vessel,  our  sailors  lost  no  time  in  spreading  their 
sails  and  soon  Alexandria  was  far  in  the  distance.  But  all 
peril  was  not  yet  over,  for  the  third  day  out  a  terrible  tem- 
pest arose  and  undoubtedly  the  ship  would  have  been  lost 
but  for  the  courage  which  the  knowledge  of  having  the 
sacred  body  on  board  inspired  in  each  sailor,  for  'they 
knew  certainly  that  with  such  a  precious  freight  as  hostage 
for  their  safety  there  was  no  danger.  At  last  the  storm 
ceased  and  they  arrived  safely  in  the  harbor. 

"  You  may  be  sure  they  lost  no  time  in  soliciting  a  private 
audience  of  the  Doge,  and  you  may  imagine  his  surprise 
when  they  revealed  to  him  that  now  in  the  harbor  was  the 


VENICE  AND  ST.  MARK.  37 

body  of  the  long  promised  guardian  saint  of  Venice.  The 
great  bell  in  the  campanile  sounded  forth  and  warned  the 
citizens  that  some  important  event  would  be  announced 
from  the  steps  of  the  ducal  palace.  But  still  more  you  may 
imagine  the  surprise  of  the  people  when  the  Doge  pro- 
claimed the  great  honor  that  heaven  had  bestowed  upon 
them.  After  this  he  proceeded  to  the  ship  followed  by 
the  entire  multitude,  their  hearts  full  of  religious  joy  and 
enthusiasm.  On  their  arrival  the  body  was  taken  from 
the  vessel  and  borne  to  the  chapel  of  the  ducal  palace,  fol- 
lowed by  a  devout  procession,  when,  after  the  celebration 
of  the  Mass,  it  was  deposited  in  the  vault  under  the  high 
altar  which  had  long  been  prepared  and  waiting  for  it. 
The  consolation  of  the  good  Venetians  at  possessing  such 
a  treasure  surpassed  all  expression;  from  that  moment  St. 
Mark  was  proclaimed  the  protector  of  the  city.  The 
image  of  the  saint  and  his  lion  was  placed  on  all  the  public 
monuments,  upon  the  banners  of  the  fleet,  and  engraved 
upon  the  money.  It  encouraged  them  to  all  undertakings 
for  the  prosperity  of  the  city,  whose  destiny,  according  to 
the  prophecy,  depended  upon  the  possession  of  this  relic. 
A  great  festa  was  instituted,  to  be  celebrated  each  year  on 
the  3ist  of  January,  the  day  on  which  the  body  of  St. 
Mark  arrived  on  our  shores.  A  grand  mass  was  cele- 
brated, at  which  the  Doge  and  all  the  nobility  were  present. 
But  such  exultation  did  all  feel,  that  it  was  decided  to 
raise  a  temple  to  the  new  guardian  saint  on  the  site  of  the 
church  of  St.  Theodore.  The  edifice  was  nearly  com- 
pleted when  a  terrible  conflagration  destroyed  it,  which 
revealed  that  God  was  not  satisfied  with  the  monument 
being  erected  to  the  honor  of  St.  Mark.  Therefore,  on  the 
instant  it  was  decreed  that  a  new  temple  should  be  built 
which  should  excel  all  others  in  richness  and  magnifi- 
cence. Not  only  their  own  Venetian  artists  were  engaged, 


38  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

but,  as  the  fine  arts  then  held  their  reign  in  Constanti- 
nople, the  most  renowned  professors  were  called  from 
there  to  assist  them,  and  they  were  ordered  to  design  a 
cathedral  which,  at  any  cost,  should  have  no  equal  in  the 
world.  The  great  work  was  commenced  in  977  and  con- 
tinued for  more  than  three  centuries,  during  which  time 
the  finest  and  rarest  marbles  were  continually  brought  to 
enrich  it." 

The  quaint  language  of  the  old  sexton  carried  me  back 
to  the  time  when  those  beautiful  marbles  were  first 
brought  from  the  Orient  and  helped  me  to  understand  the 
religious  enthusiasm  which  gave  this  wonderful  people  the 
courage  to  undertake  and  the  perseverance  to  accomplish 
this  marvelous  work.  But  I  must  say  addio  to  the  old 
sexton,  leaving  him  to  take  his  snuff  and  enlighten  some 
other  traveler. 

Passing  by  the  many  artists  who  are  still  working 
away,  among  them  Meissonier,  vainly  trying  to  entice 
onto  their  canvases  the  rich  coloring  and  artistic  effects  of 
oriental  marble  and  ancient  mosaic,  1  go  out  into  the  fresh 
air  of  the  piazza  San  Marco,  where  I  linger  awhile  to 
examine  and  admire  that  incomparable  mixture  of  Italian 
and  Oriental  architecture,  the  facade  of  St.  Mark's,  with 
its  Christian  martyrs  and  pagan  heroes,  its  mythological  and 
allegorical  figures,  its  statues  reaching  back  to  the  earliest 
centuries  of  the  republic  and  coming  down  to  the  cele- 
brated Sansovino.  But  Ave  Maria  rings  out  from  the  old 
campanile  and  I  have  but  time  to  look  at  the  representa- 
tion of  the  event  which  has  been  related  by  the  old  sexton 
in  regard  to  the  body  of  St.  Mark.  Here  it  is  on  the 
facade  on  our  right  in  a  wonderfully  effective  and  dra- 
matic mosaic,  which  represents  the  wily  Venetians  open- 
ing their  basket  and  the  horrified  Mussulmans  turning 
away,  repulsion  depicted  on  their  countenances.  The  eye 


VENETIAN  LACE  AND  GLASS.  39 

of  the  clever  Reustico  almost  twinkles  with  delight  as  he 
contemplates  the  retreating  Mussulmans  who  show  their 
disgust  even  to  the  last  thread  of  their  turbans.  As  Reus- 
tico's  twinkling  eyes  follow  me  as  I  walk  up  and  down 
admiring  this  exquisite  mosaic  I  am  inclined  to  think 
though  my  old  friend,  the  sexton,  did  not  suggest  it,  that 
there  was  a  fair  show  of  Italian  subtleness  intermingled 
with  his  religious  enthusiasm. 

As  I  walked  away  from  the  piazza  San  Marco  in  the 
twilight,  through  the  busy  streets  with  their  innumerable 
shop  windows  full  of  the  fairy-like  Venetian  glass  where 
the  colors  of  a  Venetian  sunset  seem  to  be  imprisoned,  of 
beads  manufactured  in  Venice,  of  laces  from  the  looms  of 
Burano  which  almost  surpass  in  beauty  the  antique  designs 
of  which  they  are  reproductions,  I  congratulated  myself 
that  in  this  age  of  skepticism  I  could  still  believe  in  the 
vision  of  St.  Mark,  "that  Venice  should  never  lose  her 
fame  under  his  guardianship."  For,  notwithstanding  the 
vicissitudes  she  has  suffered  under  foreign  tyrants  and 
French  vandals,  the  romance  of  the  past  and  hope  for  the 
future  still  linger  around  her,  making  her  as  famous  in 
her  decay  as  she  was  in  the  zenith  of  her  power. 


VI.— FLORENCE. 

1887. 

FASHION   AND   FOLLY  DURING   THE 
CARNIVAL. 

Charms  of  a  Climate  Dominated  by  Mountains  in  Summer  and 
Tempered  by  Italian  Mildness  in  Winter. — Giotto's  Campa- 
nile and  Ghiberti's  Golden  Gates. — Ideal  Cosmopolitanism. 
— Florence  the  Most  Fascinating  City  in  the  World. — Twelve 
Weeks  of  Carnival.— Magnificent  Fetes,  Splendid  Balls, 
Charming  Hospitality.  —  Interiors  of  Famous  Palaces. — 
Superb  Costumes. — Origin  of  "  Fiasco." 

Perhaps  you,  who  are  so  well  posted  in  all  the  art  and 
ethics  of  Florence,  might  now  be  interested  in  hearing 
something  of  her  fashion  and  folly,  and  how  she  has 
amused  herself  during  this  season  of  carnival  which  closes 
to-morrow.  Everybody  knows  something  of  her  historic 
beaux  and  belles,  her  beauties  on  canvas  and  heroes  in 
marble,  and  I  will  tell  you  something  of  the  descendants 
of  those  grand  people,  how  they  live,  look,  dress,  and  pass 
their  time.  In  the  first  place,  you  must  know  that  Flor- 
ence is  the  most  charming  residence  city  in  the  world. 
Being  for  centuries  the  centre  of  civilization,  many  of  the 
refined  dilettante  of  Europe  congregate  here  and  form  a 
society  impossible  to  find  elsewhere.  Being  in  the  heart 
of  Italy,  her  winters  are  mild.  Surrounded  by  the  snow- 
clad  Apennines,  her  air  is  bracing  even  in  summer,  hence 
the  whole  year  can  be  passed  here  without  inconvenience 
from  heat  or  fear  of  epidemics.  Her  galleries  being 
stored  with  the  richest  art  accumulations  of  the  centuries, 
artists,  students,  and  connoisseurs  come  here  and  cannot 

4o 


FLORENCE  COSMOPOLITAN.  41 

tear  themselves  away.  Giotto's  campanile  is  always  new, 
and  the  sight  of  Ghiberti's  golden  doors  makes  them  feel 
nearer  that  paradise  which  Michael  Angelo  said  they 
were  beautiful  enough  to  grace.  The  Florentines  being 
not  only  an  educated  and  civilized  people,  but  a  people 
who  have  inherited  education  and  civilization,  are  entirely 
devoid  of  those  narrow,  ignorant  prejudices  which  con- 
front the  traveler  in  all  the  other  cities  of  Europe.  As  the 
discontented  ignorant  poor  of  every  land  go  to  America, 
so  the  discontented  and  educated  rich  from  all  nations 
come  to  Florence.  Consequently  in  Florentine  salons  one 
meets  the  most  cultivated  people  of  every  nation.  Demo- 
crat, legitimist,  monarchist,  republican,  Mohammedan, 
Buddhist,  Jesuit,  Puptestant,  Jew,  and  Gentile,  all  meet  and 
agree  to  disagree  in  the  most  charming  social  intercourse. 
All  these  diverse  elements  combine  to  form  a  society  bril- 
liant, interesting,  and  enjoyable. 

Many  of  the  resident  foreigners  here  came  at  the  time 
Victor  Emmanuel  established  his  court  and  chose  Florence 
for  the  capital.  Captured  by  the  artistic  resources,  edu- 
cational advantages,  social  enjoyment,  and  healthful 
climate,  they  have  remained,  although  court  and  capital 
have  long  since  been  removed  to  Rome.  Had  the  court 
remained  here  Florence  would  have  been  the  gayest  city 
in  the  world.  As  it  is,  she  is  still  the  most  fascinating. 
I  advise  all  patres  familias  who  are  coming  to  Europe  to 
educate  their  children,  to  come  to  Florence.  Living  is 
cheap,  schools  are  unsurpassed  in  excellence,  save,  of 
course,  for  young  men  who  wish  a  diploma  from  some  of 
the  great  universities;  and  the  advantage  of  living  among 
a  people  who  have  all  that  refinement  of  manner  and  cul- 
tivation of  intellect  that  is  to  be  found  not  in  Germany 
nor  yet  in  England,  is  just  what  "young  America  "  needs 
and  lacks.  The  language  of  the  salon  in  Italy,  as  every- 


42  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

where  in  Europe  by  common  consent,  is  French.  Repre- 
sentatives from  every  nation  meet  together  here  and 
mutually  express  every  shade  of  thought,  political,  relig- 
ious, esthetic  and  social,  through  that  fluent  medium,  la 
langue  Fran$aise. 

Instead  of  ten  days  of  carnival,  as  at  Rome,  the  Flor- 
entines vote  themselves  twelve  weeks  of  it.  During  this 
time  all  work  is  laid  aside;  even  the  more  seriously 
inclined  welcome  this  annual  period  of  relaxation.  "All 
saws  of  learning  are  forgotten,"  all  tiresome  thought  post- 
poned, all  cares  banished,  and  each  and  all  consent  to 
amuse  and  be  amused,  entertain  and  be  entertained.  But 
among  the  hosts  who  thus  decide  I  can  only  take  time  to 
mention  a  few  who  give  magnificent f£tes  and  receptions 
every  year,  and  who  simply  send  to  new  acquaintances  a 

card  with  "  Mme.  B ,  chez  elle, evenings,"  which 

invites  one  for  all  the  evenings  of  the  season.  Old  friends 
have  no  need  of  this  reminder,  for  once  invited,  they  are 
expected  to  come  each  returning  year,  sans  cdrtmonie. 
These  same  receptions  and  balls  have  been  given  in  the 
same  palaces  by  the  same  families  or  their  representatives 
during  the  carnival  season  for  generations,  and  the  custom 
has  become  so  well  established  that  strangers  or  foreigners 
who  rent  one  of  these  old  mansions  feel  compelled  to  con- 
tinue the  traditional  festivities. 

The  Casa  Fenzi,  in  the  Via  San  Gallo,  is  the  residence 
of  one  of  the  oldest  Florentine  families,  and  has  been 
handed  down  from  father  to  son  for  generations.  In  point 
of  wealth  the  Fenzis  are  the  Rothschilds  of  Tuscany ;  in 
point  of  refinement,  elegance,  patriotism,  and  public  spirit 
they  are  true  representatives  of  the  distinguished  Floren- 
tines whose  cultivation  and  magnificence  aroused  the  jeal- 
ousy of  all  Europe  long  before  our  dear  America  was 
dreamed  of.  This  family  receive  on  Sunday  evenings. 


A  FAMOUS  BALL-ROOM.  43 

The  visitor  presses  through  a  long  line  of  salons,  each  in 
its  appointments  and  artistic  decorations  more  beautiful 
than  the  other.  But  we  must  not  linger  to  admire  old 
masters  and  articles  of  virtu,  to  enjoy  the  odors  of  the 
rare  exotics  or  criticize  the  toilets  of  the  throng  of  ladies 
already  filling  the  numerous  rooms,  for  the  beautiful  host- 
ess awaits  the  guests  in  the  farthest  adjoining  the  grand 
ball-room. 

Imagine  a  ball-room  nearly  square,  sixty  by  eighty 
feet  in  size,  and  forty  feet  to  the  ceiling,  ornamented  and 
decorated  with  gilding,  frescos,  and  tapestries,  with  no 
chandeliers  to  break  the  grand  view  of  the  noble  hall, 
but  lighted  by  a  multitude  of  semi-circular  candelabra  on 
each  of  its  four  sides,  rising  one  above  the  other,  and 
filled  with  eight  hundred  wax  candles,  shining  down  on  a 
thousand  people  in  richest  costumes,  and  sparkling  with 
costly  jewels  and  gems.  At  10  o'clock  the  dancing  com- 
mences, at  i  the  music  ceases  as  Mme.  Fenzi  insists  on 
early  hours,  a  custom  not  honored  by  observance  in  most 
Florentine  houses,  where  many  of  the  invitations  are  for 
12  o'clock,  and  the  balls  continue  till  6,  7,  and  even  8  in 
the  morning. 

At  the  end  of  the  cotillon  this  season,  each  lady  pre- 
sented to  her  cavalier  a  small  fiasco  or  flask  of  wine 
marked  Feb.  8,  1880.  This  caused  great  merriment, 
as  in  Italy  a  present  to  a  gentleman  of  a  fiasco  is  an  inti- 
mation that  he  has  been  jilted.  When  it  is  rumored  in 
Florentine  society  that  any  of  the  beaux  has  been  refused, 
he  is  immediately  inundated  with  fiascos  of  every  form 
and  size.  The  derivation  of  the  custom  is  quite  signifi- 
cant. At  the  glass  works  in  Venice  when  the  workman 
fails  in  blowing  a  fine  and  costly  ornament  he  immediately 
utilizes  the  blast  by  turning  it  into  a  bottle,  and  the  whole 
furnace  rings  with  the  derisive  shouts  of  his  brother  work- 


44  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

men,jiasco !  fiasco  /  That  is  evidently  the  derivation  of 
the  same  word  in  our  language,  signifying  failure. 

The  Princess  Carolath,  who  resides  in  the  famous  Tor- 
regiana  Palace,  in  the  midst  of  the  largest  and  most  beau- 
tiful garden  of  Florence,  usually  has  two  grand  balls  dur- 
ing the  season.  When  I  tell  you  that  she  has  flowers 
sent  from  all  the  conservatories  of  Italy,  and  that  the 
floral  decorations  alone  for  one  of  these  balls  cost  $2,000, 
you  may  imagine  the  magnificence  of  all  the  other 
appointments  of  thefite.  The  orchestra  was  composed 
of  thirty-two  performers  upon  various  instruments,  includ- 
ing twelve  harps.  At  one  time  one-half  of  the  band  sud- 
denly left  the  room  for  refreshments,  when  the  remaining 
sixteen  took  up  each  a  mandolin  and  continued  the  music 
for  the  dance,  producing  an  indescribably  fine  effect,  and 
afterward  the  music  was  performed  by  the  harpers  alone. 
Add  to  all  this  the  beautiful  favors  in  the  cotillon,  and  the 
fact  that  the  princess  is  the  most  perfect  hostess  in  the 
world,  and  never  suffers  one  of  the  least  of  her  hundreds 
of  guests  to  be  overlooked  or  neglected,  and  you  will  not 
wonder  that  all  Florence  is  on  the  qui  vive  for  an  invita- 
tion to  her  balls. 

Last  month  the  historic  Strozzi  palace  in  the  Via  Tor- 
nabuoni  was  opened  for  the  first  time  since  the  death  of 
the  old  prince  some  two  years  ago.  More  than  ordinary 
interest  was  attached  to  this  ftte,  and  not  only  the  aristo- 
cracy of  Florence  but  all  Italy  was  there,  for  it  was  the 
formal  announcement  of  the  betrothal,  and  the  signing  of 
the  marriage  contract  of  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Prin- 
cess Strozzi  and  the  young  Count  Guicciardini  of  Genoa. 
The  bride  is  not  as  beautiful  as  the  historic  Strozzi  maiden 
who  was  so  perfect  in  loveliness  that  even  the  magic 
brush  of  Titian  could  not  add  a  charm,  but  still  is  pretty 
enough,  and  in  her  white  satin,  point,  pearls,  and  family 


AMERICANS  IN  FAVOR.  45 

jewels  was  on  that  evening,  as  the  Florentines  themselves 
exclaimed,  carina  da  verro. 

Last  Tuesday  evening  the  Commandeur  Borg  de 
Balzan  gave  his  last  ball  until  after  lent.  Monsieur  Borg 
is  a  Maltese  by  birth,  and  his  niece  and  her  daughter  who 
are  visiting  with  him  this  winter  are  from  la  belle  Paris, 
but  having  himself  lived  thirty  years  in  America,  and  his 
house  being  presided  over  by  his  ward,  a  lady  of  unmis- 
takably American  type,  the  Americans  claim  the  Com- 
mandeur for  a  compatriot,  and  I  think  he  rather  likes  to  be 
considered  such,  for  in  Europe  if  you  are  not  a  king,  a 
queen,  or  a  prince  of  the  royal  blood,  the  next  best  thing 
is  to  be  an  American.  "  Just  fancy,"  say  our  English 
friends,  "  those  nasty,  vulgar  shop-keeping  Americans 
being  presented  to  our  queen  and  going  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales'  balls,  when  even  we  private  gentle  people  can  not 
be  admitted."  The  Commandeur  Borg  de  Balzan's 
house  is  a  palace  of  curiosities.  Paintings  of  every  period 
and  every  master,  drawings,  etchings,  engravings  of  price- 
less value,  statuary,  bas-reliefs,  carved  woods,  mosaics,  old 
china,  porcelains,  everything  that  a  connoisseur  loves  and 
a  master  produces.  The  ball  room  is  eighty  feet  in  length, 
with  galleries  at  the  ends,  and  surrounded  by  colonnades. 
Here  the  lovers  of  art,  while  viewing  the  dancers  and 
chaperoning  their  daughters,  can  at  the  same  time  admire 
rare  pictures,  Sevres,  majolica,  faience,  and  Ginori,  with- 
out at  all  interfering  with  the  festivities  of  the  evening. 
All  the  fashion  and  beauty  of  Florence  were  assembled  on 
the  last  Tuesday  of  the  carnival.  The  costumes  were 
magnificent.  One  dress  of  white  satin,  embroidered  with 
white  jet,  worn  by  an  American  young  lady,  was  very 
beautiful  and  effective.  The  diamonds  and  emeralds  of  the 
Princess  Carolath  were  marvelous,  and  her  dress  of  white 
satin,  covered  with  point  cTaiguille,  was  quite  superb.  At 


46  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

the  end  of  the  cotillon  lottery  tickets  were  distrihuted  as 
favors.  A  great  lottery  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor  has 
been  organized  and  some  of  the  prizes  generously  pre- 
sented by  the  rich  consist  of  parures  of  diamonds  and 
emeralds  and  necklaces  of  pearls.  The  possibilities  con- 
tained in  these  tickets  gave  the  recipients  pleasant  hopes, 
and  the  novel  idea  was  hailed  as  a  happy  one. 

Mme.  Corti,  the  wife  of  the  prefect  of  Florence,  gave 
two  splendid  balls  at  the  prefecture,  which  is  one  of  the 
grandest  of  the  old  historic  mansions  of  Florence. 

Imagine  yourself  sipping  ices  in  a  room  covered  with 
Raphael's  frescos,  and  where  one  can  almost  think  the 
spirit  of  the  great  master  is  hovering  about ;  and  think  of 
dancing  in  a  salon  where  grand  democratic  old  Philip 
Strozzi  tore  in  bits  the  ignominious  treaty  that  the  Floren- 
tines were  about  to  sign  with  the  French  king,  and  scat- 
tered the  shreds  contemptuously  about  the  room  in  the 
presence  of  the  haughty  monarch. 

Last  but  not  least,  Florence  contains  at  this  very 
moment  a  veritable  Countess  Monte  Christo,  not  a  theo- 
retical ideal  like  that  of  Dumas,  but  a  veritable  heroine, 
with  brains  enough  to  think  of  all  sorts  of  nice  things,  and 
practical  sense  and  generosity  enough  to  give  shape  and 
form  to  her  thoughts.  She  is  English,  a  widow,  rich  as 
Croesus,  and  amiable  as  she  is  good  and  generous,  and 
even  the  most  envious  can  not  say  evil  of  Mrs.  Grieswood. 
She  receives  every  Tuesday  evening,  and  such  weekly 
receptions  were  never  seen  before.  The  Palazzo  Dhoog- 
worst  in  which  she  lives,  is  on  the  Lung  Arno,  and  is  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  palaces  in  Florence.  To  see  these 
magnificent  rooms  is  pleasure  enough.  Dancing  begins 
at  II,  and  the  cotillon  or  German,  with  which  all  the  balls 
of  Florence  end,  continues  till  5  in  the  morning, — supper 
at  2.  But  as  I  do  not  wish  to  give  you  such  an  appetite 


PRINCESS  STROZZI'S  STRATAGEM.  47 

as  reading  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novels  used  to  give  me,  I 
will  not  describe  the  "  cena" — supper.  All  the  young 
men  in  Florence  are  trying  to  obtain  the  secret  of  the 
composition  of  the  "champagne  cup,"  furnished  at  her 
tables,  which  is  better  than  champagne  and  yet  is  nothing 
but  champagne. 

The  last  ball  was  a  fite  poudrJe  affair,  the  ladies  in 
powder,  patches  and  trains,  the  gentlemen  in  knee- 
breeches,  silken  hose,  high  heels,  and  diamond  buckles. 
Mesdames  Pompadour  and  DuBarry  were  there,  but  it 
was  "  the  play  of  Hamlet  with  Hamlet  left  out,"  for  even 
the  most  illusionary  could  not  see  a  Louis  XV.  among  all 
this  crowd  of  messieurs  in  kingly  attire.  The  supper  was 
rechercht,  unique;  a  whole  stag  smothered  in  jellies  filled 
the  centre  of  the  table,  while  either  end  rejoiced  in  a 
veritable  peacock,  with  his  argus-eyed  fan  all  spread,  poor 
birds  that  had  been  wickedly  murdered  to  grace  this  fete. 
But  the  cotillon  favors  surpassed  all;  beautiful  fans,  gold 
chains  with  the  hostess'  monogram  on  the  medallions,  and 
divers  other  rich  gifts.  At  the  closing  figure  of  the  quad- 
rille, when  a  table  was  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
with  a  hand-organ  upon  it,  every  one  was  in  a  delicious 
suspense.  What  next?  resounded  in  whispers  through 
the  room,  when  in  came  the  second  son  of  the  Princess 
Strozzi,  disguised  as  an  organ-grinder  in  a  charming  vel- 
vet costume,  and  bearing  on  his  shoulder  a  dear,  disgust- 
ing, little  pet  monkey,  dressed  in  satins  and  tinsels,  hold- 
ing in  his  little  hand  a  box  containing  cards  on  which 
each  lady  guest's  name  had  been  written.  The  monkey 
was  placed  on  the  table,  and  each  courtier  in  his  turn  re- 
ceived a  card  with  the  name  of  the  lady  who  was  to  be  his 
partner.  The  last  one  received  a  card  marked  "  Monkey," 
and  the  lucky  recipient  of  the  prize  favor  of  the  cotillon 
bore  away  in  triumph  this  interesting  specimen  of  our  ori- 


48  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

ginal  ancestors.  The  wife  of  Count  Mirafiore,  a  son  of 
Victor  Emmanuel,  the  prettiest  woman  in  Florence,  ap- 
peared in  a  most  gorgeous  costume  of  pale-blue  velvet  and 
white  satin.  The  Marchesa  Ginori,wife  of  the  proprietor 
of  the  famous  Ginori  porcelain  factory,  was  dazzling  in  the 
most  beautiful  diamonds  to  be  seen  in  Italy.  Madame 
Grieswood  wore  a  superb  Worth  costume  of  blue  satin, 
embroidered  with  silver  in  arabesque  design,  pearl  neck- 
lace, with  diamond  pendants  and  tiara  of  diamonds  in  her 
blonde  hair.  But  I  should  tire  you  with  a  description  of 
all  these  dames,  for  this  one  night  at  least,  beautiful,  and  I 
have  only  time  to  tell  you  of  one  of  the  Florentine  beaux, 
the  best  known,  and  the  most  illustrious,  if  not  the  most 
admired. 

The  great  beau  of  Florence  is  the  young  Prince 
Piero  Strozzi.  He  drives  a  beautiful  pair  of  gray  ponies 
every  day  in  the  Casino,  exchanges  admiring  glances 
with  the  young  ladies  and  devotes  himself  to  the  married 
ones.  It  is  said  that  he  is  not  going  to  surrender  his  heart 
for  a  golden  tress,  nor  bestow  his  title  for  the  glance  of 
a  bright  eye.  The  young  lady  who  aspires  to  be  the 
Princess  Strozzi  and  live  in  the  grand  old  palace,  must 
have  for  her  dowry  1,000,000  golden  lire.  For  the  infor- 
mation of  any  of  your  rich  and  ambitious  friends  I  will 
just  say  this  is  $200,000  of  our  money.  And  besides  she 
must  have  charms  enough  to  content  a  fastidious  youth 
who  is  the  spoiled  pet  of  all  the  beautiful  married  ladies. 
As  great  riches,  beauty,  and  blue  blood  are  rarely 
found  combined  in  this  world  of  compensation,  this  repre- 
sentative of  the  Strozzi  is  liable  to  remain  a  bachelor  for 
some  time  to  come,  notwithstanding  the  efforts  of  ambi- 
tious parents  who  are  constantly  conspiring  with  his 
mamma  to  rob  him  of  his  liberty. 

To-night  the  annual  grand  masked  ball  takes  place  at 


AFTER  THE  CARNIVAL.  49 

the  Pergola  theatre.  The  fashion  and  aristocracy,  all 
arrayed  in  silks,  satin,  and  jewels,  will  fill  the  first  and 
second  of  the  six  tiers  of  boxes,  gossip  and  chat  with  their 
friends  and  admirers,  while  the  common  people  in  domino 
and  mask  dance  and  intrigue  in  the  pit  beneath.  At  2 
o'clock  tables  are  spread  and  collations  with  comfits  and 
champagne  are  served  on  tables  set  in  the  boxes,  and  each 
lady  invites  her  friends  to  come  and  sup  with  her. 

On  the  morrow  prince  and  peasant,  rich  and  poor, 
educated  and  ignorant,  will  congregate  in  the  churches, 
arrayed  in  metaphorical  sackcloth  and  ashes,  and  these  late 
devotees  of  pleasure  will  whisper  into  the  ear  of  their  con- 
fessor all  the  little  sins,  white  and  black,  committed  during 
the  carnival  and  repented  of  now  in  the  dawn  of  the 
Lenten  season,  when  low-necked  dresses  must  give  place 
to  high  ones,  coquetting  to  prayers,  powder  to  ashes,  and 
dancing  to  sacred  music.  The  priests  chide,  then  absolve, 
and  we  can  but  hope  that  the  absolution  will  wash  all 
those  "  damned  little  spots,"  and  make  them  white  and  pure 
as  snow. 

Mile,  de  la  Rame"e  (Ouida)  forges  her  social  thunder- 
bolts in  a  villa  just  in  the  environs  of  Florence.  When  it 
is  rumored  that  Ouida  has  a  new  book  in  press,  all  the 
society  ladies  of  Florence  tremble,  each  one  thinking  that 
her  time  has  come.  Every  one  says  that  Ouida  is  growing 
each  year  more  and  more  malicious,  and  that  she  aims  her 
polished  and  poisoned  darts,  only  and  always  at  shining 
social  marks.  Dame  Gossip  says  that  Ouida  makes  war 
on  all  the  feminine  portion  of  "  society "  and  that  the 
reason  is  as  follows:  When  Ouida  came  for  the  first  time 
to  sunny  Italy,  she  was,  though  no  longer  young,  heart 
whole  and  fancy  free.  No  tender  thoughts,  no  human 
passions  had  ever  attempted  to  knot  themselves  in  the 
woof  that  made  the  even  web  of  her  unsentimental  life. 


5°  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

She  was  happy.  She  studied,  read,  wrote,  petted  her 
faithful  dogs,  patted  her  fleet  steeds,  communed  with  her- 
self, and  regarded  man  simply  as  good  material  for  a 
clever  woman  to  weave  into  interesting  romances  for  silly 
women  to  read. 

One  may  play  with  edged  tools  for  years  without  cut- 
ting one's  fingers.  But  Ouida  was  doomed  at  last  to 
experience  all  those  emotions  that  her  pen  had  so  often 
depicted,  and  to  suffer  all  the  pangs  of  her  weakest,  most 
love-lorn  heroines.  She  who  had  traveled  in  every  land, 
conversed  with  the  intelligent  of  every  nation,  associated 
with  the  fascinating  of  every  clime  unscathed,  was  destined 
to  surrender  at  last  her  stubborn  heart,  and  yield  her  stub- 
born affections  to  an  effeminate,  degenerate,  languid,  lux- 
urious son  of  Italy.  She  fell  hopelessly  in  love,  not  like 
our  Margaret  Fuller  with  an  Italian  hero  and  patriot,  but 
with  an  ordinary  "society"  man,  a  handsome  young  mar- 
quis. At  this  happy  epoch  Ouida  never  wearies  with 
singing  the  moral,  social  and  esthetic  praises  of  Italy. 
Whether  or  no  this  love  was  returned?  Ah!  that  is  just 
now  the  mooted  question!  The  marquis  says  "not,"  that 
Ouida  is  not  " simpatica"  and  that  no  Italian  ever  would 
be  enamored  of  her.  Ouida  maintains  that  he  was  and  is 
still  devoted  to  her,  but  that  he  is  so  entangled  in  the 
intricate  meshes  of  an  artful  married  woman's  wiles  that 
he  can  not  come  to  her  whom  he  loves ;  that  owing  to  his 
Italian  temperament  he  has  neither  the  courage  to  dare, 
nor  the  energy  to  break  the  chains  that  habit  has  riveted 
upon  him. 

Experience  proves  that  neither  bars  nor  bolts,  high 
walls  nor  dungeons  deep,  smiles  nor  tears,  pleadings 
nor  threatenings,  can  hold  even  an  Italian  away  from 
the  woman  he  loves.  Hence  one  is  inclined  to  believe 
the  marquis  and  to  think  that  Ouida  was  in  the  middle  of 


A  SOCIAL  PANIC.  51 

one  of  her  romance-making  hallucinations,  and  that  her 
imagination  ran  away  with  her  judgment.  Ouida,  des- 
perate, tries  to  console  herself  with  her  pen,  and  through 
this  facile  medium  pours  her  imaginary  wrongs  into  the 
willing  ear  of  the  public.  Contrary  to  the  mode  of  her 
heroines  who  let  concealment  gnaw  their  damask  cheeks 
and  corrode  their  tender  hearts,  Ouida  told  her  story 
to  all  the  world  in  a  book.  So  true  to  life  were  her 
pen  pictures  that  all  Florence  recognized  them.  Of 
course,  like  all  portraits,  one  was  too  much  flattered,  the 
other  too  much  exaggerated;  one  was  too  light,  the  other 
too  dark.  But  she  succeeded  in  making  herself,  the  mar- 
quis, and  the  married  lady  ridiculous,  and  as  one  can  not 
go  into  society  when  all  the  world  is  laughing  at  one,  they 
have  each  and  all  retired  to  their  respective  villas  in  the 
suburbs  of  Florence,  where  they  remain  far  from  the  gay 
world  that  two  of  them  at  least  adore. 

Ouida  has  no  longer  the  appearance  of  youth.  She  is 
stout,  and  dresses  neatly,  is  luxurious  in  her  tastes,  but  is 
not  now  and  never  could  have  been  pretty.  She  has 
nothing  courteous  nor  sympathetic  in  her  manner.  She 
receives  on  Mondays.  She  is  not  affable  to  her  guests, 
merely  polite.  She  is  not  a  conversationalist.  She  pre- 
fers to  listen.  She  never  condescends  to  discuss  her  books 
with  women,  as  she  does  not  consider  them  capable  of 
comprehending  her. 

Ouida  is  not  content  with  being  thought  only  a  clever 
writer,  her  higher  ambition  is  to  be  considered  a  great 
artist,  and  her  villa  is  adorned  with  pictures  that  she  has 
painted  in  those  hours  when  she  has  laid  aside  pen  and 
paper  for  canvas  and  brush.  Her  paintings  are  much 
more  moral  than  her  books,  but  her  novels  are  more 
artistic  than  her  paintings,  consequently  she  will  be  known 
only  as  an  author,  never  as  an  artist. 


VII.— JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY'S 
LETTERS. 

A  Review,  1889. 

TRANSPARENT    CHARACTER   OF    THE 
GREAT   HISTORIAN. 

Decline  of  Intellectual  Activity  In  America. — Bismarck's  Admira- 
tion for  Motley. — His  Personal  Resemblance  to  Byron. — 
Precocious,  Diligent,  Amiable. — Life  at  the  Russian  Court. 
Humorous  Description  of  Thackeray. —  Lady  Dufferin's 
Anecdote  of  Disraeli. — Oxford  Honors  Motley. — Presenta- 
tion to  the  King  of  Prussia. — Minister  to  England. 

It  is  impossible  to  put  down  a  book  like  that  containing 
Motley's  letters  without  reflecting,  and  perhaps  with  some 
bitterness,  that  he  belongs  to  a  past  which  was  better  than 
the  present;  without  reflecting  that  within  the  last  few 
years  not  only  our  own  country,  but  the  whole  world  has 
become  vulgarized.  Forty  or  fifty  years  ago  there  was  a 
period  of  wonderful  intellectual  activity  in  America. 
There  was  an  intellectual  dawn  which  has  reached  its 
zenith,  and  is  on  the  decline.  Where  literary  and  profes- 
sional men  once  ruled,  merchant  princes  now  wield  the 
scepter.  At  the  time  when  Motley  began  to  write  there 
was  an  exuberance  of  literary  activity.  As  a  nation  we 
had  not  become  blast;  we  were  young  and  enthusiastic. 
We  retained  Puritan  simplicity  combined  with  refinement 
and  delicacy ;  the  cultivation  of  the  old  world  with  the 
purity  of  thought  and  life  of  a  new  civilization.  Motley 
was  a  good  exponent  of  his  time.  His  character  was 
charming  in  its  simplicity.  In  his  letters  we  can  discover 
no  trace  of  vanity  or  self -consciousness.  He  had  an  extra- 

52 


"THE  POET  OF  HISTORY."  53 

ordinary  faculty  of  drawing  people  to  him  by  a  peculiar 
charm  of  manner  and  the  still  more  extraordinary  one  of 
retaining  his  friends  to  the  last.  He  had  an  ethereal, 
delicate  sort  of  beauty,  which  made  him  remarkable  where- 
ever  he  went.  Bismarck  said  of  him  that  "  he  never 
entered  a  drawing-room  without  exciting  the  curiosity  and 
sympathy  of  the  ladies."  He  was  said  to  resemble  Byron 
— in  fact,  Lady  Byron  said  that  the  resemblance  was 
"  wonderful."  Motley  may  be  called  the  poet  of  history. 
The  American  spirit  was  too  strong  within  him  to  enable 
him  to  give  himself  up  entirely  to  works  of  the  imagina- 
tion, but  he  colored  the  dim  figures  of  Holland's  heroes 
until  they  stand  before  us  decked  in  all  the  hues  of  life. 
He  breathed  into  them  the  passion  of  his  own  nature,  until 
they  live  and  move  and  speak. 

Do  not  all  charms  fly 

At  the  mere  touch  of  cold  philosophy? 

sang  Keats.  Motley  succeeded  in  preserving  all  the 
charms  of  the  romantic,  although  philosophy  plays  its 
proper  part. 

Motley  was  like  Macaulay  in  precocity,  knowing 
French,  German  and  Spanish,  and  reading  Cicero  at  n. 
In  1831,  at  the  age  of  17,  after  graduating  at  Harvard,  he 
went  to  Gottingen  to  study  civil  law,  from  whence  he 
sent  some  picturesque  descriptions  of  student  life  to  his 
mother.  Here  he  met  Bismarck  and  formed  a  friendship 
which  lasted  until  his  death.  After  leaving  Gottingen 
he  went  to  Berlin,  where  he  met  Frau  von  Goethe,  and 
through  her  Tieck,  "  the  German  Boccaccio."  In  Novem- 
ber, 1834,-  he  went  t°  Italy,  from  whence  he  wrote  to  his 
parents  describing  particularly  the  Apollo  Belvidere, 
which  seemed  to  impress  him  greatly.  "He  has  never 
been  fed  but  with  nectar  and  ambrosia;  there  are  no  pro- 
truding veins,  no  swelling  muscles;  all  is  perfect,  god-like, 


54  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

beautiful  repose."  After  a  tour  through  England  and 
Scotland,  Motley  returned  to  America,  and  in  1837  was 
married.  Two  years  afterward  his  first  novel,  "  Morton's 
Hope,"  was  published,  having  but  little  success.  In  1841 
he  was  appointed  secretary  of  Legation  at  St.  Petersburg. 
His  position  gave  him  the  entree  into  the  gay  society  of 
the  Russian  capital.  The  descriptions  of  his  presentation 
at  court  and  of  the  balls  given  by  the  Russian  nobility 
are  very  interesting,  but  he  soon  tired  of  a  life  where  there 
was  nothing  for  him  to  do,  and,  after  a  few  months,  resigned 
his  position  and  returned  to  America.  In  Russia  he  saw 
Taglioni,  and  in  a  letter  to  his  wife  he  says :  "  Nothing 
can  equal  her  swimming,  sweeping,  whirling,  floating 
motion;  her  dancing  is  a  perfect  abstraction  or  emanation." 
Of  the  Emperor  he  wrote :  "  The  present  Emperor  is 
undoubtedly  a  man  of  great  energy ;  but  how  can  one  man 
uphold  this  mass  even  in  the  state  of  crepuscular  civiliza- 
tion they  have  reached  ? "  On  his  way  home  he  passed 
through  Paris  and  went  to  one  of  Guizot's  soirees.  We 
read  of  him  that  he  had  "  a  fine,  monastic  sort  of  face  and 
a  short,  uncourtly  figure."  Thiers,  Motley  says,  was 
"  one  of  the  most  agreeable  speakers  "  he  ever  heard.  At 
this  time  he  writes  in  one  of  his  letters :  "  The  more  I 
see  of  other  countries,  the  more  I  like  America.  The 
faults  and  blemishes  which  are  so  apparent  and  so  magni- 
fied when  we  are  close,  diminish  wonderfully  as  we 
recede."  In  1842  Motley  returned  to  America,  and  in 
1847  began  to  collect  materials  for  a  history  of  Holland. 
In  1857,  finding  it  impossible  to  collect  the  proper  materi- 
als for  his  history  without  consulting  archives  and  libraries 
abroad,  he  sailed  with  his  family  for  Europe. 

From  this  time  he  worked  almost  uninterruptedly  at 
his  history,  and  between  the  I3th  of  July  and  the  23d  of 
December  he  completed  one  volume.  He  says  in  a  letter 


MOTLEY  AND  BISMARCK.  55 

to  his  mother  from  Dresden  :  "  I  confess  that  I  have  not 
been  working  underground  for  so  long  without  hoping 
that  I  may  make  some  few  people  in  the  world  better  and 
wiser  by  my  labor."  At  Dresden  he  found  the  Queen 
"  very  tall  and  stately,  with  most  charming  manners,"  and 
the  King  "  a  mild  old  gentleman,  wadded  and  bolstered 
into  harmonious  proportions,  with  a  single  tooth,  worn 
carelessly  at  one  side,  which  somewhat  interferes  with  his 
eloquence."  In  the  same  letter,  dated  February,  1853,  he 
says  that  he  has  finished  Part  I  of  his  history,  "all  per- 
haps that  will  ever  be  written,  unless  its  publication  gives 
me  encouragement  to  continue."  In  July  of  the  same 
year  he  passed  through  Frankfurt,  when  he  renewed  his 
acquaintance  with  Bismarck.  He  says  :  "  If  I  had  been 
a  brother  instead  of  an  old  friend,  he  could  not  have  shown 
more  warmth  and  affectionate  delight  in  seeing  me.  He 
is  a  man  of  very  noble  character  and  of  great  powers  of 
mind.  The  prominent  place  which  he  now  occupies  as 
statesman  sought  him ;  he  did  not  seek  it  nor  any  other 
office."  He  describes  the  Iron  Chancellor's  delightful  and 
simple  hospitality,  and  adds :  "  I  breakfast  there  this 
morning  and  am  to  dine  there  with  a  party  to-day.  To- 
morrow, I  suppose,  I  shall  dine  there  en  famille.  I  am 
only  afraid  that  the  landlord  will  turn  me  into  the  streets 
for  being  such  a  poor  consommateur  for  him,  and  all  I  can 
do  is  to  order  vast  quantities  of  soda  water." 

The  "  Dutch  Republic  "  was  received  with  universal 
approbation  all  over  the  world,  although  The  Saturday 
Revieiv,vf'\th  its  usual  genius  for  being  on  the  wrong  side, 
was,  as  he  writes  to  his  father,  "decidedly  disagreeable  in 
its  criticisms." 

When  Motley  returned  to  England,  after  the  publica- 
tion of  his  history  by  John  Chapman  (Murray  refused  it), 
he  found  himself  famous,  and  was  received  as  one  of 


56  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

themselves  by  England's  choicest  spirits.  From  this  time 
we  have  in  his  letters  a  dissolving  view  of  the  great  figures 
in  English  society.  Thackeray  he  describes  as  having  the 
appearance  of  a  "  colossal  infant,"  with  "  shiny,  ringlety 
hair,  and  a  roundish  face  with  a  little  dot  of  a  nose." 

"  His  manner  is  like  that  of  everybody  else  in 
England;  nothing  original;  all  planed  down  into  perfect 
uniformity  with  that  of  his  fellow  creatures."  None  of 
the  attentions  showered  upon  Motley  ever  injured  his 
modest  and  unaffected  nature.  He  writes  a  letter  to  his 
wife  describing  an  afternoon  visit  to  Lord  and  Lady 
Lyndhurst,  in  which  he  says :  "  As  soon  as  I  got  into  the 
room  Lady  Lyndhurst  opened  upon  me  such  a  torrent  of 
civilities  that  I  was  nearly  washed  away.  I  certainly 
should  not  repeat  to  you,  even  if  I  remembered  it,  the 
particular  phraseology.  Once  for  all,  let  me  say,  that  I 
only  mention  such  things  as  these  in  conformity  to  your 
urgent  request.  I  would  no  more  write  such  things  to  any 
one  else  than  I  would  go  and  stand  on  my  head  in  the 
middle  of  Pall  Mall.  I  feel  like  a  donkey,  and  am  even 
now  blushing  unseen,  like  a  peony,  or  any  other  delicate 
flower,  at  the  very  idea  of  writing  such  trash."  Macaulay 
he  found  courteous  and  agreeable,  and  says  of  him :  "  I 
do  not  know  that  I  can  repeat  any  of  his  conversation,  for 
there  was  nothing  to  excite  very  particular  attention  in  its 
even  flow.  There  was  not  a  touch  of  Holmes'  ever  bub- 
bling wit,  imagination,  enthusiasm  and  arabesqueness;  it 
is  the  perfection  of  the  commonplace  without  sparkle  or 
flash,  but  at  the  same  time  interesting  and  agreeable.  I 
could  listen  to  him  with  pleasure  for  an  hour  or  two  every 
day,  and  I  have  no  doubt  I  should  grow  wiser  every  day, 
for  his  brain  is  full  as  hardly  any  man's  ever  was,  and  his 
way  of  delivering  himself  is  easy  and  fluent."  Lord  John 
Russell  is  described  as  "  a  smallish  individual  in  a  green 


HONORED  BY  OXFORD.  57 

cutaway  coat,  large  yellow  waistcoat  and  plaid  trousers. 
No  one  would  suppose  him  to  be  the  man  of  large  intel- 
lect and  indomitable  ambition  which  he  unquestionably  is." 
Of  Lord  Brougham  Motley  says:  "Deep  furrows  of 
age  and  thought  and  toil,  perhaps  of  sorrow,  run  all  over  his 
face,  while  his  vast  mouth,  with  a  ripple  of  humor  ever 
playing  around  it,  expands  like  a  placid  bay  under  the 
huge  promontory  of  his  fantastic  and  incredible  nose." 
He  continues :  "  His  nose  has  the  litheness  and  almost 
the  length  of  the  elephant's  proboscis,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
he  can  pick  up  pins  or  scratch  his  back  with  it  as  easily  as 
he  could  take  a  pinch  of  snuff." 

With  the  peculiarly  English  characteristic  of  never 
spoiling  a  good  story  on  account  of  relationship,  Lady 
Dufferin  told  Motley  the  following  anecdote  of  Disraeli, 
which  he  repeats  in  one  of  his  letters :  "  He  (Disraeli) 
was  once  dining  with  my  insufferable  brother-in-law,  Mr. 
Norton,  when  the  host  begged  him  to  drink  a  particular 
wine,  saying  he  had  never  tasted  anything  so  good  before. 
*  Dizzy'  agreed  that  the  wine  was  good.  'Well,'  said  Nor- 
ton, '  I  have  wine  twenty  times  as  good  in  my  cellar.'  *  No 
doubt,  no  doubt,'  said  '  Dizzy,'  looking  around  the  table, 
'  But,  my  dear  fellow,  this  is  quite  good  enough  for  such 
canaille  as  you  have  got  to-day.'  " 

In  1860  Motley  received  the  honorary  degree  of  Doc- 
tor of  Civil  Law  at  Oxford.  Early  in  1861  he  returned 
to  America,  but  only  to  receive  and  accept  in  the  month 
of  August,  the  appointment  of  minister  to  Austria.  We 
had  no  better  representative  in  Europe  during  the  trying 
period  of  our  national  struggle  than  Motley,  who  was 
imbued  with  the  most  earnest  patriotism,  and  whose 
enthusiasm  for  the  cause  of  freedom  knew  no  bounds. 
The  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  by  the  public  men  of 
Germany,  Austria  and  England  gained  many  friends  for 


58  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

the  cause  which  he  defended.  In  this  connection,  it  may 
be  mentioned  that  Motley  speaks  of  Austria  as  having, 
beyond  any  other  country  in  Europe,  sympathy  for  the 
Northern  cause.  Lincoln's  simple,  straightforward 
honesty  and  singleness  of  purpose  was  deeply  appreciated 
by  Motley.  He  says  of  him  in  one  of  his  letters:  "His 
wisdom,  courage,  devotion  to  duty  and  simplicity  of  char- 
acter seem  to  me  to  embody  in  a  very  striking  way  all 
that  is  most  noble  in  the  American  character  and  Ameri- 
can destiny."  Bismarck  wrote  in  one  of  his  letters  to 
Motley:  "Jack,  my  dear,  where  the  devil  are  you,  and 
what  do  you  do,  that  you  never  write  me  a  line?  Let 
politics  be  hanged  and  come  to  see  me.  I  promise  that 
the  Union  Jack  shall  wave  over  our  house  and  conversa- 
tion, and  the  best  of  hock  shall  pour  damnation  into  the 
rebels." 

Motley  describes  his  presentation  to  the  King  of  Prus- 
sia with  characteristic  drollery :  "  We  were  all  (that  is,  the 
chief  dips,  male  and  female)  taken  into  a  kind  of  drawing- 
room,  at  one  side  of  which  we  were  stood  up  like  nine- 
pins to  be  bowled  down  by  their  various  royalties.  The 
King  of  Prussia  had  his  first  innings — a  tall,  sturdy,  good- 
humored-faced  elderly  man." 

Motley  remained  warmly  attached  to  his  Government 
in  spite  of  his  recall  from  Vienna  under  very  disagreeable 
circumstances.  "  For  one,"  he  writes  to  his  daughter,  "  I 
like  democracy.  I  don't  say  that  it  is  pretty,  genteel,  or 
jolly.  Aristocracy  certainly  presents  more  brilliant  social 
phenomena,  more  luxurious  social  enjoyments.  Such  a 
system  is  very  cheerful  for  a  few  thousand  select  speci- 
mens out  of  the  few  hundred  millions  of  the  human  race. 
It  has  been  my  lot  and  yours  to  see  how  much  splendor, 
how  much  intellectual  and  physical  refinement,  how 
much  enjoyment  of  the  highest  character  has  been  created 


MINISTER  TO  ENGLAND.  59 

by  the  English  aristocracy ;  but  what  a  price  is  paid  for 
it!  Think  of  a  human  being  working  all  day  long  from 
six  in  the  morning  to  seven  at  night  for  a  few  kreutzers  a 
day  in  Moravia,  Bohemia,  Ireland  or  Yorkshire,  for  forty 
or  fifty  years,  to  die  at  last  in  the  workhouse,  and  yet  they 
are  the  natural  equals  in  every  way  of  the  Howards,  Stan- 
leys, Esterhazys  and  Lichtensteins." 

In  1869  Motley  was  appointed  Minister  to  England, 
but  only  occupied  the  post  for  a  few  months.  In  1874 
Mrs.  Motley  died,  and  the  letters  relating  to  this  bereave- 
ment are  singularly  touching.  The  writer  himself  died 
three  years  later  in  England.  The  striking  fact  about  his 
whole  life  seems  to  be  that,  while  thrown  among  the 
greatest  and  noblest  spirits  of  his  time,  courted  and  loved 
by  the  great  of  all  nations,  he  never  lost  his  simplicity,  his 
independence,  or  his  belief  in  republican  institutions. 
Always  guileless,  modest,  sincere  and  affectionate,  we  may 
fitly  say  of  him  what  he  said  of  Lincoln :  "  He  seemed  to 
have  a  window  in  his  breast." 


VIII.— MARIE   BASHKIRTSEFF. 

An  Analysis,  1889. 

TRAGIC  STORY  OF  THE  RUSSIAN   GENIUS. 

Beautiful,  Over  Sensitive,  Richly  Endowed. — Early  Aspiration 
for  Fame. — Ambitious,  Cynical,  Introspective. — Studies  Art 
in  Paris. — Intellectual  Resemblance  to  Alfred  de  Musset. — 
Fond  of  Plato,  Dante,  Ariosto,  Shakspeare. — Contemplation 
of  Death. — Loss  of  Hearing. — Industry  at  the  Easel. — 
Tender  Friendship  for  Bastien-Lepage. — Dead  at  Twenty- 
four. 

The  Journal  of  Marie  Bashkirtseff, —  a  translation  of 
which  has  just  appeared  in  America,  although  the  original 
was  published  over  a  year  ago  in  Paris  —  is  one  of  those 
books  which  immediately  become  a  part  of  the  soul  of 
the  reader.  That  ambitious,  morbid,  suffering  girl  gives 
to  us  in  this  wonderful  book,  which  appeals  to  the  deepest 
and  most  natural  feeling  of  the  human  heart,  that  exquis- 
ite emotional  thrill  which  tender  music  rendered  by  a 
master,  noble  sentiments  uttered  by  a  great  orator,  or  the 
magnetic  voice  of  a  Patti  or  a  Gayarre,  sometimes  gives. 
When  we  put  aside  this  record  of  a  daily  life  so  intense 
in  every  line,  revealing  a  nature  containing  such  possibili- 
ties of  greatness,  we  are  oppressed  with  a  feeling  of  inde- 
scribable sadness.  The  writer  says  somewhere  in  her 
Journal :  "  It  would  be  curious  if  this  record  of  my  fail- 
ures and  of  my  obscure  life  should  be  the  means  of  pro- 
curing for  me  the  fame  I  long  for,  and  shall  always  long 
for."  Exaltle,  beloved,  beautiful,  talented,  her  book  has 
made  her  famous, — but  too  late. 

*MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF.  The  Journal  of  a  Young  Artist,  1860-1884.  Trans- 
lated by  Mary  J.  Serrano.  Illustrated.  New  York:  Cassell  &  Co. 

60 


A  RUSSIAN  BEAUTY.  61 

Marie  Bashkirtseff  was  born  in  Pultava,  Russia,  on  the 
nth  of  November,  1860.  She  was  very  beautiful,  with 
delicate  exquisitely-modelled  features,  golden  hair,  and 
gray  eyes  curiously  deep  and  sweet.  Her  face  was  an 
intellectual  as  well  as  a  beautiful  one,  but  it  lacked  repose. 
A  shadow  of  unrest,  as  delicate  as  might  be  left  by  the 
wing  of  a  bird,  always  rested  there.  At  fifteen  she  already 
dreamed  of  being  famous.  She  says: 

"  I  am  ambitious — that  is  my  greatest  fault.  The  beauties  and 
the  ruins  of  Rome  make  me  dizzy,  I  should  like  to  be  Caesar, 
Augustus,  Marcus  Aurelius,  Nero,  Caracallk,  Solon,  the  Pope  ; 
I  should  like  to  be  all  these,  and  I  am  nothing.  .  .  Ah! 
how  weary  I  am  of  my  obscurity!  I  am  consumed  by  inaction. 
I  am  growing  mouldy  in  this  darkness.  Oh,  for  the  light,  the 
light,  the  light." 

Diderot  wrote,  a  hundred  years  before: 
"A  delicious  repose,  a  sweet  book  to  read,  a  walk  in  some  open 
and  solitary  spot,  a  conversation  in  which  one  discloses  all  one's 
heart,  a  strong  emotion  that  brings  the  tears  to  one's  eyes  and 
makes  the  heart  beat  faster,  whether  it  comes  of  some  tale  of 
generous  action,  or  of  a  sentiment  of  tenderness,  of  health,  of 
gaiety,  of  liberty,  of  indolence, —  there  is  the  true  happiness,  nor 
shall  I  ever  know  any  other." 

This  ideal  of  the  sage  of  the  i8th  century  would  not 
have  contented  our  I9th  century  hot-house  blossom.  She 
writes : 

"To  count  neither  on  friendship,  nor  gratitude,  nor  loyalty, 
nor  honesty  ;  to  elevate  one's  self  courageously  above  the  mean- 
nesses of  humanity,  and  take  one's  stand  between  them  and  God; 
to  get  all  one  can  out  of  life,  and  that  quickly ;  to  do  no  injury  to 
one's  fellow-beings;  to  make  one's  life  luxurious  and  magnificent; 
to  be  independent,  so  far  as  it  be  possible,  of  others;  to  possess 
power! — yes,  power! — no  matter  by  what  means! — this  is  to  be 
feared  and  respected;  this  is  to  be  strong,  and  that  is  the  height  of 
human  felicity,  because  one's  fellow-beings  are  then  muzzled,  and 
either  through  cowardice  or  for  other  reasons  will  not  seek  to 
tear  one  to  pieces. 


62  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

"Is  it  not  strange  to  hear  me  reason  in  this  way?  Yes,  but  this 
manner  of  reasoning  in  a  young  creature  like  me  is  but  another 
proof  of  how  bad  the  world  is;  it  must  be  thoroughly  saturated 
with  wickedness  to  have  so  saddened  me  in  so  short  a  time.  I  am 
only  fifteen." 

This  cynicism  at  fifteen  might  revolt  us,  were  it  not  the 
cynicism  of  a  noble  heart  tortured  by  doubt,  and  not  that 
of  corruption  or  experience. 

Marie  Bashkirtseff,  like  Alfred  de  Musset,  was  a  true 
child  of  the  nineteenth  century, —  believing  in  yet  haunted 
by  "the  shadow  of  belief,  disbelief;"  passionate,  seeking 
for  noble  ideals,  yet  shackled  by  the  chains  of  environ- 
ment, analyzing  every  emotion  until  it  rose  up  like  a 
Frankenstein  to  terrify  her,  enjoying  even  her  own  suf- 
ferings and  her  own  tears.  She  says: 

"I  love  to  weep,  I  love  to  give  myself  up  to  despair;  I  love  to 
be  troubled  and  sorrowful." 

Alfred  de  Musset  expresses  the  same  sentiment  in  the 
pathetic  lines: 

"Le  seul  bien  qui  me  reste  au  monde 
Est  d'avoir  quelquefois  pleureV' 

She  sighed  for  happiness,  but,  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  it 
always  evaded  her.  A  passionate  melancholy  came  in  its 
place,  and  a  resolve  to  strive  for  the  admiration  of  the 
world,  with  all  the  strength  of  her  frail  body  and  her 
heroic  soul  —  for  thus  she  hoped  to  be  happy.  "  Nature 
intended  me  to  be  happy,"  she  says,  "but — 

"Pourquoi  dans  ton  ceuvre  celeste 
Tant  d'  e'le'ments  si  peu  d'accord?  " 

Marie  had  a  pure  and  correct  literary  taste,  and  loved 
the  strength  and  virility  of  the  classics.  She  says  in  her 
Journal: 

"No  melodrama,  no  romance,  no  sensational  comedy  of 
Dumas  or  of  George  Sand,  has  left  so  clear  a  souvenir  and  so  pro- 


TRANSPLANTED  IN  PARIS.  63 

found  and  natural  an  impression  upon  me  as  the  description  of  the 
taking  of  Troy." 

Plato  was  always  open  on  her  desk.  When  she  left 
Nice,  she  says  that  she  took  with  her  "  the  encyclopaedia, 
a  volume  of  Plato,  Dante,  Ariosto,  and  Shakespeare,"  a 
curious  library  for  a  girl  of  fifteen. 

Like  all  people  of  poetic  and  artistic  nature,  she  loved 
Italy. 

"  Life  is  not  the  same  there  as  elsewhere.  It  is  tree,  fantastic 
large,  reckless  and  yet  languid,  fiery  yet  gentle,  like  its  sun,  its 
sky,  its  glowing  plain." 

However,  in  the  autumn  of  1877,  Madame  Bashkirt- 
seff,  Marie's  mother, —  said  to  have  been  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  women  in  Russia, —  decided  to  live  in  Paris.  At 
first  Marie  writes : 

"  Paris  kills  me!     It  is  a  cafe",  a  well-kept  hotel,  a  bazaar." 
A  day  or  two  later  she  adds: 

"  The  mere  word  Italy  causes  me  an  emotion  such  as  no  other 
word,  such  as  no  one's  presence,  has  ever  done." 

Later  on,  she  acknowledged  the  charm  of  Paris, —  as, 
sooner  or  later,  everyone  does  who  remains  there  long 
enough  to  become  a  part  of  its  intellectual  life. 

In  September,  1877,  she  entered  the  Atelier  Julien  to 
study  painting  ;  and  from  this  time  her  life  was  a  constant 
struggle  between  ambition  and  disease.  She  worked 
many  hours  a  day,  and  in  a  very  short  time  showed  a  true 
genius  for  her  art.  The  presentiment  of  an  early  death 
still  seemed  to  haunt  her,  even  in  the  midst  of  success,  and 
she  writes  in  1878: 

"To  die?  It  would  be  absurd  ;  and  yet  I  think  I  am  going  to 
die.  It  is  impossible  that  I  should  live  long.  I  am  not  consti- 
tuted like  other  people;  I  have  a  great  deal  too  much  of  some 
things  in  my  nature,  a  great  deal  too  little  of  others,  and  a  char- 
acter not  made  to  last.  If  I  were  a  goddess,  and  the  whole  uni- 
verse were  employed  in  my  service,  I  should  still  find  the  service 


64  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

badly  rendered.  There  is  no  one  more  exacting,  more  capricious, 
more  impatient  than  I  am.  There  is  sometimes,  perhaps  even 
always,  a  certain  basis  of  reason  and  justice  in  my  words,  only 
that  I  cannot  explain  clearly  what  I  want  to  say.  I  say  this,  how- 
ever, that  my  life  cannot  last  long.  My  projects,  my  hopes,  my 
little  vanities,  all  fallen  to  pieces!  I  have  deceived  myself  in 
everything!" 

Again  she  says: 

"I  do  not  fear  death,  but  life  is  so  short  that  to  waste  it  is 
infamous.  Art!  I  picture  it  to  myself  like  a  great  light  shining 
before  me  in  the  distance,  and  I  forget  everything  else  but  this, 
and  I  shall  press  forward  to  the  goal,  my  eyes  fixed  upon  this 
light." 

As  her  malady  progresses  she  becomes  slightly  deaf, 
and  this  causes  her  the  most  profound  discouragement. 
She  writes: 

"I  shall  never  recover  my  hearing,  then.  It  will  be  endur- 
able, but  there  will  always  be  a  veil  between  me  and  the  rest  of 
the  world.  The  wind  among  the  trees,  the  murmur  of  the  brook, 
the  rain  striking  against  the  window-panes,  whispered  words, —  I 
shall  hear  none  of  these.  .  .  I  am  accustomed  to  it,  but 
it  is  none  the  less  horrible." 

Her  most  successful  picture,  "A  Meeting,"  was  ex- 
posed in  the  Salon  of  1884,  and  was  the  picture  most 
talked  of  that  year.  Marie  could  scarcely  believe  in  her 
success.  She  says  in  her  Journal : 

"Ah!  I  begin  to  believe  it  a  little,  but  for  fear  of  believing 
too  much  I  do  not  permit  myself  to  feel  satisfaction  but  with 
reserves  of  which  you  have  no  idea.  Enfin!  I  shall  be  the  last 
to  believe  that  the  world  believes  in  me." 

Though  oppressed  by  physical  weakness,  she  still 
works  continually,  but  writes: 

"Oh,  this  dreadful  lassitude!  Is  it  natural  to  feel  thus  at  my 
age?  In  the  evenings  when  I  am  tired  out  and  half  asleep,  divine 
harmonies  float  through  my  brain ;  they  rise  and  fall,  like  the 
strains  of  an  orchestra,  but  independent  of  my  volition.  If  we 
only  knew  what  there  is  beyond  —  but  we  do  not;  and  then,  it  is 


FRIENDSHIP  WITH  BASTIEN-LEPAGE.  65 

precisely  this  feeling  of  curiosity  I  have  about  it  that  makes  the 
thought  of  death  less  terrible  to  me." 

Her  friendship  with  Bastien-Lepage, —  whom  she  de- 
scribes as  "  not  a  painter  only,  a  poet,  a  psychologist,  a 
metaphysician,  a  creator," —  was  a  very  tender  one.  He, 
too,  was  doomed  to  an  early  death;  and  when  she  was 
dying,  he  was  carried  to  her  house  to  spend  the  few  hours 
remaining  at  her  side.  It  is  a  pathetic  picture, —  the 
shadow  of  death  over  them  both  ;  and  yet  they  still  de- 
sired to  paint,  the  artistic  spirit  almost  surviving  the  soul 
itself.  She  writes: 

"  Bastien-Lepage  goes  from  bad  to  worse.  I  am  unable  to 
work.  My  picture  (La  Rue)  will  not  be  finished.  Here  are  mis- 
fortunes enough.  He  is  dying,  and  he  suffers  intensely.  When 
I  am  with  him,  I  feel  as  if  he  were  no  longer  of  this  earth;  he 
already  soars  above  us;  there  are  days  when  I  feel  as  if  I  too 
soared  above  this  earth.  I  see  the  people  around  me,  they  speak 
to  me,  I  answer  them,  but  I  am  no  longer  of  them.  I  feel  a 
passive  indifference  to  everything,  a  sensation  somewhat  like 
that  produced  by  opium.  .  .  Yes,  he  is  dying,  and  the 
thought  does  not  move  me,  I  am  indifferent  to  it ;  something  is 
fading  out  of  sight  —  that  is  all.  And  then  everything  will  be 
ended  —  everything  will  be  ended.  I  shall  die  with  the  dying 
year." 

Two  weeks  before  her  death,  she  writes: 

"I  have  not  been  able  to  go  out  for  the  past  few  days.  I  am 
very  ill,  although  I  am  not  confined  to  bed.  .  .  Ah,  my 
God!  and  my  picture,  my  picture,  my  picture!" 

Marie  Bashkirtseff  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-four, 
October  31,  1884, —  just  eleven  days  after  the  last  entry 
in  her  Journal.  She  left  over  one  hundred  and  fifty 
pictures  and  sketches,  and  this  phenomenal  book. 


IX.— A  FRENCHMAN  ON  THE 
POTOMAC. 

An  Interpretation,  1890. 
MEMOIRS     OF    GENERAL    DE    TROBRIAND. 

A  Worthy  Compatriot  of  Lafayette. — No  Sympathy  with  Pro- 
crastination and  Hesitancy.— Severe  Strictures  on  General 
McClellan.— A  "  Cabinet  of  Traitors,"  an  "  Emasculated 
Government." — All  Foreign  Ambassadors  except  those  of 
Italy  and  Prussia  Believed  the  South  would  Win.— Lin- 
coln Depressed  Morally  and  Physically. — Grant,  Sherman, 
Sheridan. 

General  de  Trobriand's  "  Four  Years  With  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac"  (Boston:  Ticknor  &  Co.),  which  was 
published  in  France  in  1867,  has  at  last  been  put  into 
English  by  an  able  translator.  It  is  surprising  that  so  val- 
uable a  work,  and  one  in  which  every  American  must  be 
interested,  should  not  have  been  translated  long  ago. 
General  de  Trobriand,  following  in  the  footsteps  of  his 
illustrious  compatriot,  Lafayette,  joined  our  army  animated 
simply  by  admiration  for  our  free  institutions  and  a  desire 
to  aid  us  in  protecting  and  perfecting  them.  Unprejudiced 
by  party  feeling  or  personal  interests,  his  work,  as  a  his- 
tory of  the  war,  is  of  great  value.  Written  as  it  was, 
soon  after  the  war,  the  narrative  has  all  the  freshness,  the 
vigor,  and  the  truthfulness  of  detail  of  recent  recollection. 
The  author  gives  us  in  his  first  chapters  a  short  but  re- 
markably clear  and  concise  account  of  the  principal  events 
which  took  place  during  the  quarter  of  a  century  before 
the  war,  a  re"sum£  of  the  causes  leading  up  to  and  the 
State  of  things  at  the  beginning  of  the  Rebellion,  and 

$6 


A  LOVER  OF  AMERICA.  67 

the  motives  agitating  both  parties.  The  instinct  of  na- 
tional freedom  was  the  determining  influence  in  the 
North.  Naturally  there  were  running  parallel  with  this 
great  overwhelming  torrent  of  generous  enthusiasm  of 
one  race  to  free  another  counter  currents  of  personal 
greed  and  political  intrigue,  hut  the  instinct  to  preserve 
the  integrity  of  the  Nation  and  to  permit  nothing  which 
should  impair  it  was  the  motor  force  which  overcame  all 
else.  In  the  white  light  of  peace  we  of  the  younger 
generation  are  apt  to  reverse  the  glass  and  see  the  events 
of  the  war  en  petit.  General  de  Trobriand  takes  us 
back  to  the  excitement  of  war  times.  His  enthusiasm 
communicates  itself  to  us,  his  recital  of  the  stirring 
scenes  of  the  campaign,  the  tragic  and  pathetic  incidents 
of  the  battle-field,  the  purity  of  our  motives  as  a  nation 
in  entering  into  the  war,  makes  us  feel  the  grandeur  and 
nobility  of  our  struggle  for  freedom. 

If  General  de  Trobriand  had  been  a  descendant  of  the 
Pilgrim  fathers  he  could  not  have  been  inspired  with  a 
purer  patriotism  and  a  greater  love  for  America.  He  was 
ready  at  all  times  to  sacrifice  his  life  for  his  adopted 
country  and  took  his  part  in  the  weary  marches  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  through  Virginia,  where,  discour- 
aged by  the  vacillating  policy  of  their  Commander-in- 
Chief,  footsore,  decimated  by  fever,  fearful  of  treason 
among  their  own  Generals,  the  soldiers  still  preserved 
their  belief  in  the  final  victory  of  the  cause  of  liberty. 
General  de  Trobriand  had  no  sympathy  with  the  false 
sentimentality  which  animated  some  of  our  Generals  at 
the  beginning  of  the  war,  who  held  one  eye  fixed  on 
Washington,  the  other  on  Richmond,  vainly  trying  to 
solve  the  problem  of  how  to  fight  for  the  North  without 
injuring  the  South.  The  unusual  mode  of  warfare 
which,  in  the  march  through  Virginia,  not  only  allowed 


68  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

our  soldiers  to  march  hungry  through  a  rebel  country,  but 
posted  guards  of  their  own  starving  comrades  over  the 
poultry  yards  and  corn-fields  of  the  rebel  farmers  to  pre- 
serve them,  surprised  as  much  as  it  disgusted  the  French 
General,  unaccustomed  to  such  complaisance  in  warfare. 

The  enemy  was  not  so  complaisant.  The  author  says: 
"  The  road  we  followed  was  sown  with  murderous  snares. 
There  were  cylindrical  bombs  with  percussion  fuses  care- 
fully concealed,  buried  so  as  to  leave  the  capsule  level  with 
the  ground.  The  step  of  a  man  or  horse  upon  it  was 
sufficient  to  explode  it  and  it  was  always  fatal.  Some- 
times the  bombs  were  covered  by  a  piece  of  board,  inviting, 
the  tired  soldier  to  sit  down.  Whoever  yielded  to  the 
temptation  never  rose  again.  A  few  bodies,  torn  and 
blackened,  showed  us  the  result  of  that  invention  of  the 
South." 

The  pen  and  ink  portraits  of  the  men  who  played  the 
most  prominent  roles  in  the  events  of  the  time  are  drawn 
with  all  the  truthfulness  of  the  realistic  school.  Buchanan 
is  shown  to  us,  weak  and  despicable,  surrounded  by  a 
Cabinet  of  traitors,  "  opposing  to  the  direct  and  multiplied 
attacks  against  the  Federal  Government  only  the  inertia 
of  senile  imbecility  or  the  hypocrisy  of  latent  treason.' 
We  read:  "General  Dix  was  the  only  member  of  this 
emasculated  Government  who  gave  any  signs  of  virility. 
Public  opinion  found  at  least  some  consolation  in  the 
knowledge  that  there  was  one  man  in  the  Cabinet  whose 
heart  showed  neither  treason  nor  feebleness  when,  soon 
after  being  appointed  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  he  sent 
to  the  commander  of  one  of  the  Custom  House  vessels 
the  peremptory  order :  '  If  any  man  attempts  to  haul 
down  the  American  flag  shoot  him  on  the  spot.'  "  Of 
General  McClellan  the  writer  says:  "Never  did  he  visit 
our  camp,  never  in  my  knowledge  did  he  seek  to  find  out 


McCLELLAN  CRITICIZED.  69 

for  himself  what  was  the  state  of  the  discipline,  of  the  in- 
struction, or  the  condition  of  the  men  he  was  to  lead 
against  the  enemy.  In  that  respect  the  official  reports 
were  sufficient  for  him." 

The  author  gives  us  a  transcript  of  a  letter  written  by 
General  McClellan  to  President  Lincoln  on  July  7,  five 
days  after  his  arrival  at  Harrison's  Landing,  in  which  it 
was  said  that  "  in  no  case  should  the  war  be  carried  on 
with  the  object  of  subjugating  the  people  of  any  State  ; 
that  neither  the  confiscation  of  property,  nor  political  exe- 
cutions, nor  the  territorial  organization  of  a  State,  nor 
forced  abolition  of  slavery  should  be  for  an  instant  thought 
of."  Commenting  upon  this  well-known  passage,  Gen- 
eral de  Trobriand  says :  "  This  manifesto  gives  the  key 
to  the  ideas  and  conduct  of  the  General;  his  hesitations, 
his  slowness,  his  tender  regard  for  the  enemy  and  per- 
haps to  some  things  until  then  inexplicable."  The  feeling 
in  Europe  is  thus  described :  "  All  the  ambassadors  ex- 
cept the  Italian  and  Prussian,  believed  that  the  South 
would  inevitably  be  the  victor  in  the  coming  struggle. 
Naturally  they  communicated  this  belief  to  their  respect- 
ive Governments.  At  Paris,  while  the  Confederate  agents 
showed  themselves  everywhere,  put  themselves  in  connec- 
tion with  influential  men,  worked  the  press  and  operated 
on  the  Bourse,  the  United  States  Legation,  where  French 
was  not  spoken,  was  confined  to  its  official  functions  and 
had  no  influence  outside  of  that  which  could  counterbal- 
ance the  maneuvers  of  its  adversaries." 

Of  Mr.  Seward  we  read :  "  There  was  in  him  a  moral 
and  spiritual  vigor  equal  to  every  trial.  His  elastic  vitality 
was  proof  against  both  work  and  wounds."  Of  Mr.  Lin- 
coln :  "  It  was  otherwise  with  the  President,  who,  in  the 
dark  hours  of  his  first  years  of  trial,  sometimes  bent  under 
the  burden.  In  January,  1862,  I  had  the  honor  to  dine 


70  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

at  the  White  House,  when  twenty  guests  were  assembled. 
Mr.  Lincoln  took  no  part  in  the  conversation.  Neither 
the  lively  sallies  of  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis,  nor  the  inviting 
remarks  of  some  of  the  ladies  could  distract  him  from 
his  interior  reflections  or  lighten  the  moral  and  physical 
fatigue  to  which  he  visibly  yielded.  These  occasional  fits 
of  despondency,  however,  had  no  influence  upon  the  de- 
votion of  the  President  to  his  duty.  He  did  not  fail  in 
the  accomplishment  of  the  great  task  which  had  devolved 
upon  him.  Animated  by  the  most  sincere  patriotism, 
enlightened  by  a  certain  political  sagacity,  guided  in  his 
views  and  in  his  ambitions  by  an  irreproachable  honesty, 
sustained  by  the  people,  of  whom  he  was  less  the  directing 
chief  than  the  faithful  servant,  he  followed  the  straight 
path,  regulating  his  steps  by  the  march  of  events,  with- 
out seeking  to  hasten  or  delay  the  events  of  the  hour.  He 
thus  had  a  career  more  useful  than  brilliant  during  his 
life,  but  immortalized  in  his  last  hours  by  the  consecration 
of  success  and  the  sanctification  of  martyrdom." 

The  story  of  General  Grant's  finely  planned  cam- 
paign, in  which  Grant,  Sherman  and  Sheridan  slowly 
but  surely,  in  an  ever-decreasing  circle,  crushed  the  Con- 
federate army  on  all  sides,  is  graphically  told,  the  reason 
for  each  important  movement  explained  and  its  effect 
given.  General  de  Trobriand's  accounts  of  the  battle 
field  are  almost  as  terrible  in  the  reality  of  their  detail  as 
are  Tolstoi's  descriptions  in  "  War  and  Peace,"  but  he  re- 
lieves the  horror  of  the  recital  by  many  simple  and 
pathetic  anecdotes.  As  an  example  of  Irish  heroism  we 
will  cite  the  following: 

An  Irishman  who  had  his  left  eye  torn  out  by  a  bullet 
met  General  de  Trobriand,  who  condoled  with  him  on  the 
loss  of  that  useful  and  ornamental  member.  "  Ah,  but 
you  see,  General,"  said  the  hero,  "  it  is  only  the  left  eye, 


A  WORK  FOR  AMERICANS.  71 

and  that  will  save  me  the  trouble  of  closing  it  while  tak- 
ing aim,  which  always  did  bother  me." 

Additional  pathos  is  given  to  the  anecdote  by  the  fact 
that  the  poor  fellow  died  soon  after  from  the  effect  of  his 
wound. 

Mr.  Dauchy  has  done  the  work  of  translation  remark- 
ably well.  He  has  preserved  all  the  charm  and  facility  of 
the  French  style,  while  clothing  it  in  graceful  and  fluent 
English.  We  would  especially  recommend  this  book  to 
young  people,  as,  while  it  analyzes  political  events  with 
statesmanlike  acumen  and  military  movements  with  clear- 
ness and  precision,  the  sprightliness  and  vivacity  of  its 
style  prevent  it  from  ever  becoming  wearisome. 


X.— EMILY  CRAWFORD. 

A  Portrait,  1892. 
JOURNALIST,  PHILOSOPHER,  WOMAN. 

Rare  Instance  of  Combined  Intellectual  and  Social  Distinction. — 
Widow  of  a  Noted  Correspondent  Assumes  His  Pen. — Un- 
matched Endowment  for  a  Post  of  Responsibility  and 
Power. — Friend  of  Celebrities  in  Statesmanship,  Diplomacy, 
Society,  Art  and  Literature. — Beautiful  Rural  Home. — An 
Idealist  in  a  Material  Environment. — A  Beautiful  and 
Charming  Character. 

The  litterateurs  of  the  present  day  are  as  fond  of 
spending  a  part  of  the  year  in  the  country  near  Paris  as 
they  were  in  the  days  when  Rousseau  sat  under  the  great 
tree  at  Montmorency  and  dreamed  Utopian  dreams  of  a 
perfected  world,  surrounded  by  the  little  coterie  of  ad- 
mirers who  were  in  turn  attracted  by  the  magic  of  genius 
and  repelled  by  the  inconsistencies  of  his  character.  In 
those  days  Mme.  d'Houdetot,  d'Alembert,  Grimm,  Mme. 
d'Epinay  and  a  host  of  other  literary  Egerias  and  their 
attendant  philosophers  assembled  in  the  forest  of  Mont- 
morency, and  their  shadows  still  people  it  and  float  in  our 
memories  as  if  they  had  formed  a  part  of  our  own 
existence. 

There  are  now  no  literary  Egerias  belonging  to  the 
world  of  fashion  at  Montmorency  to  form  a  brilliant 
background  and  a  sympathetic  atmosphere.  The  great 
ladies  of  France  no  longer  aspire  to  be  the  inspiring 
goddesses  or  the  literary  rivals  of  men  of  genius,  but 
many  of  their  prototypes  in  our  modern  world  still  spend 
a  part  of  the  year  there. 

72 


MRS.  CRAWFORD'S  VILLA.  73 

Near  this  romantic  spot  Mrs.  Crawford,  the  queen  of 
the  journalistic  world,  has  a  charming  little  chalet  where 
she  spends  the  summer  months,  as  much  as  possible  in 
solitude  and  seclusion.  Like  Rousseau  she  delights  in 
the  "  populous  solitude  of  bees  and  birds,"  and  like  all 
people  endowed  with  great  imaginative  powers,  never 
finds  solitude  oppressive.  When  we  arrived  at  her  villa, 
where  we  were  to  have  the  pleasure  of  spending  the  day, 
we  found  Mrs.  Crawford  busily  engaged  in  sending  off 
her  day's  mail  before  the  first  of  her  guests  should  arrive. 
Her  warm  greeting  and  her  words  of  welcome  in  a  rich 
Irish  voice  made  us  feel  at  home  at  once.  Mrs.  Crawford 
has  what  is  exceedingly  rare,  a  beautiful  face  ;  yet  at  the 
same  time  it  is  strong  and  intellectual.  Although  her  hair 
is  turning  to  silver,  and  she  is  surrounded  by  grown-up 
sons,  her  beautiful  Irish  eyes  have  in  them  the  brilliancy 
and  fire  of  sixteen.  Her  face  has  an  expression  of  gayety 
mingled  with  a  shade  of  reflective  sadness  which  renders  it 
irresistible.  While  she  is  talking  with  one  in  her  sym- 
pathetic manner  he  feels  that  she  is  reading  his  inmost 
thoughts  and  weighing  his  qualities  in  a  mental  scale 
which  gives  the  pros  and  cons  of  one's  character  with 
scrupulous  exactness. 

Her  villa  at  St.  Prix  is  surrounded  by  a  pretty  garden, 
and  from  the  windows  there  is  a  magnificent  view,  with 
Paris  in  the  distance,  the  Eiffel  tower  and  the  dome  of  the 
Invalides  being  quite  distinguishable. 

After  luncheon  we  sat  by  a  wood  fire  in  the  old- 
fashioned  fireplace,  for,  although  it  was  early  summer, 
rain  was  falling  and  the  fire  was  most  welcome.  While 
we  drank  our  coffee  the  conversation  happened  to  turn 
upon  the  complications  in  German  politics  and  the 
relative  merits  of  male  and  female  monarchs.  Mrs. 
Crawford  spoke  of  her  visit  last  year  to  Hatfield,  the 


74  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

marquis  of  Salisbury's  place,  where  she  met  the  German 
emperor. 

"Hatfield,"  she  said,  "stands  on  a  hill  commanding  a 
view  of  two  valleys.  It  is  approached  by  an  avenue  four 
miles  long,  flanked  by  beeches  planted  in  the  time  of 
Shakespeare  and  Queen  Elizabeth.  The  grounds  are 
extremely  picturesque,  one  feature  being  a  bower  of  lime 
trees  arranged  to  form  a  cloister.  It  was  when  going  to 
visit  Hatfield  that  Queen  Elizabeth  observed  a  number  of 
dead  bodies  hanging  to  the  trees  along  the  way.  When 
she  was  informed  that  this  was  the  punishment  for  petty 
thieveries  she  abolished  by  act  of  parliament  that  severe 
penalty  for  stealing." 

The  German  emperor,  Mrs.  Crawford  said,  struck  her 
as  being  "  more  restless  than  energetic,  fond  of  talking, 
liking  to  listen  to  himself,  lacking  in  humility  and  impa- 
tient of  control." 

"  I  believe,"  said  she,  "  that  crowns  should  be  settled 
exclusively  upon  women  because  they  are  modest,  they 
give  up  more  gracefully  than  men,  are  not  so  wise  in  their 
own  conceits,  are  less  pretentious,  and  have  a  moral  edu- 
cation which  men  cannot  have.  Women  realize  that  there 
are  other  wills  than  their  own,  have  more  penetration  in 
choosing  wise  counselors  and  give  them  more  scope  ;  are 
more  patient  and  willing  to  wait  for  time  and  natural 
evolution  peacefully  to  do  their  work.  For  example," 
said  Mrs.  Crawford,  "  England  could  never  have  devel- 
oped as  it  has  done  under  Queen  Victoria  had  she  had 
such  a  rash  and  headstrong  ruler  as  the  German  emperor." 

Mrs.  Crawford  has  been  on  the  staff  of  Truth  since 
that  witty,  independent  but  American-hating  journal 
started.  The  JVeiv  Review,  the  Fortnightly  and  other 
dignified  periodicals  have  constantly  requested  her  to  write 
for  them  regularly,  but  her  journalistic  work  does  not 


WOMAN  AND  DIPLOMAT.  75 

give  her  enough  time.  She  has  contributed  to  the  Daily 
News  regularly  for  twenty  years,  writing  leaders,  bio- 
graphical and  fancy  articles  and  correspondence — the  same 
to  the  New  York  Tribune  and  to  journals  in  India,  Aus- 
tralia and  the  secondary  capitals  of  Great  Britain.  With- 
out exaggeration  I  can  state  that  Mrs.  Crawford  may 
count  several  millions  of  readers  a  week.  She  also  wrote 
twice  a  week  for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  during  five 
years  under  various  pseudonyms  and  characters.  During 
these  years  of  arduous  and  earnest  work  she  has  never 
been  disabled  a  day  by  illness  until  last  winter,  when  she 
had  a  severe  attack  of  influenza  caught  in  hospital  report- 
ing. She  carries  her  journalistic  ardor  to  the  verge  of 
heroism,  as  when  during  the  last  cholera  epidemic  in 
Paris  she  visited  the  hospitals  in  order  to  send  to  the 
Daily  News  graphic  reports  of  the  progress  of  the 
plague.  I  think  this  may  be  considered  a  tour  deforce  in 
journalism. 

Mrs.  Crawford  is  exceedingly  fortunate  in  having  been 
endowed  by  her  native  land  with  true  Irish  tact.  She 
has,  therefore,  been  able  to  steer  clear  in  a  measure  of  the 
rivalries  and  jealousies  with  which  so  many  women  in 
journalism  are  obliged  to  contend.  Her  wonderful  fac- 
ulty of  judging  people  has  also  been  of  great  service  to 
her  in  this  respect.  She  was  spontaneously  elected  a 
member  of  the  Journalistic  Institute  of  Great  Britain  at 
the  Birmingham  congress  of  journalists  of  the  whole 
United  Kingdom,  and  her  name  stood  at  the  head  of  a 
list  including  Sala,  Justin  McCarthy  and  many  other  cele- 
brated men.  Mrs.  Crawford,  while  imbued  with  the 
modern  spirit  so  far  as  her  work  is  concerned,  is  actuated 
in  her  life  by  the  axioms  and  precepts  of  the  philosophers 
of  antiquity.  Like  Mme.  Roland,  she  delights  in  Plu- 
tarch and  Epictetus,  and,  although  liberal  in  her  views, 


76  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

her  education  was  religious  —  of  the  old-fashioned  type  — 
and  among  her  favorite  books  are  those  of  men  and 
women  of  religious  genius:  "The  Imitation,"  the  "Lives 
of  the  Saints,"  the  minor  prophets,  the  psalms,  "  Pense"es 
de  Pascal,"  and  the  axioms  of  Epictetus.  I  have  heard 
Mrs.  Crawford  say  that  her  ideal  existence  would  be  a 
secluded  and  meditative  one  in  which  she  could  live  out 
her  own  life,  avoiding  all  rivalry.  Rivalry  she  regards  as 
an  evil  motive,  engendering  a  too  keen  competition  for 
riches,  which  will  one  day  throw  the  world  into  anarchy. 
She  would  write  as  she  thought  fit,  courting  no  praise, 
and  aloof  from  what  is  called  society.  She  would  be 
content  to  let  all  come  to  her  without  seeking  and  to  trust 
in  God  for  whatever  guerdon  she  might  deserve.  She 
has  been  obliged  to  depart  from  this  ideal,  as  far  as  society 
is  concerned,  both  on  account  of  her  children  and  also 
because  society  is  as  keen  of  scent  as  a  bloodhound  for 
those  who  may  add  to  its  attractions.  Mrs.  Crawford 
has  been  the  trusted  friend  of  or  intimately  associated 
with  the  greatest  men  and  women  of  both  France  and 
England  for  the  last  thirty  years,  including  Gambetta, 
Gladstone,  Lord  Palmerston,  George  Meredith,  Lord 
Lytton,  Thiers,  Clemenceau  and  a  host  of  others. 

All  philosophers  have  preached  the  doctrine  of  sim- 
plicity and  of  living  near  nature  in  order  that  the  intel- 
lectual and  spiritual  may  not  be  overcome  by  the  material, 
as  developed  by  the  demoralizing  entanglements  of 
luxury.  Mrs.  Crawford  is  their  earnest  disciple.  She 
insists  upon  the  most  severe  simplicity  in  all  her  entourage 
and  that  the  atmosphere  in  which  she  lives  shall  be  an 
intellectual  one.  She  once  said  to  me  that  she  regarded 
luxurious  furniture,  bibelots  and  superfluous  servants  as  so 
many  weights.  Her  sympathies  are  wonderfully  varied. 
She  loves  art  for  art's  sake,  and  her  criticisms  show  that 


WIT  ABOVE  ROYALTY.  77 

she  looks  at  pictures  with  the  eyes  of  a  poet.  Music  is 
dear  to  her  and  she  delights  in  simple  and  harmonious 
melody  as  well  as  in  intricate  and  elaborately  worked  out 
motives.  Many  of  our  greatest  singers  have  to  thank 
her  for  those  first  appreciative  words  which  have  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  public  to  their  as  yet  unknown  merits 
and  launched  them  on  a  successful  career.  She  has  a 
marvelous  faculty  of  entering  into  the  moods  of  those 
about  her  and  sympathizing  with  them.  Her  interest  is 
never  self-centered,  but  with  the  true  instinct  of  the  critic 
she  realizes  the  unembodied  dreams  and  unexpressed 
ideas  and  feelings  of  those  surrounding  her.  Such  inter- 
est from  such  a  woman  is  a  subtle  flattery  and  an  uncon- 
scious encouragement  to  those  who  need  her  aid  and 
counsel. 

Mrs.  Crawford,  being  so  important  a  factor  in  Parisian 
society,  naturally  meets  all  the  great  personages  who 
visit  Paris,  and  her  "  Paris  Notes  "  in  Truth,  written  in 
brilliant  and  epigrammatic  English,  are  pen  pictures  of 
all  that  happens  there  which  is  worthy  of  note,  whether 
in  the  conservative  circles  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain, 
in  the  political  society  of  which  Mme.  Carnot  is  the 
queen  or,  in  the  more  cosmopolitan  milieu  of  the  foreign 
embassies.  In  Paris,  where  wit  ranks  above  royalty, 
Mrs.  Crawford  naturally  takes  her  place  as  sovereign,  and 
in  all  the  great  "functions"  of  Parisian  society  is  a  prom- 
inent figure,  holding  her  court,  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of 
eager  listeners.  Her  conversation  is  always  unaffected, 
genial,  charming  and  full  of  spontaneous  and  brilliant  wit. 
She  has  a  wonderful  memory.  She  told  me,  when  I 
remarked  upon  it  to  her,  that  she  remembered  perfectly 
everything  we  said  to  each  other  the  first  time  we  met, 
eight  or  nine  years  ago,  and  what  I  wore,  even  to  the 
shape  of  my  bonnet.  I  replied  to  her:  "It  would  be  as 


78  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

dangerous  to  say  anything  to  you  which  one  would  wish 
to  be  forgotten  as  to  whisper  it  to  a  phonograph." 

Mrs.  Crawford  is  the  widow  of  G.  M.  Crawford,  who 
for  thirty-five  years  was  correspondent  of  the  Daily  News 
at  Paris.  During  that  time  his  wife  collaborated  with 
him,  and  at  his  death  took  his  position,  which  she  has 
held  ever  since,  about  eight  years.  He  was  the  grandson 
of  Henry  Crawford,  one  of  the  few  survivors  of  the 
"black  hole"  of  Calcutta,  who  was  associated  with  War- 
ren Hastings  and  Clive  in  their  political  and  military 
achievements.  Mr.  Crawford  was  brought  up  to  the  bar, 
and  belonged  to  Lincoln's  Inn  and  the  Inner  Temple.  He 
was  of  the  same  set  as  Sir  Henry  Keating,  Sir  John 
Dorney  Harding  and  Lord  Aberdare.  It  was  on  the 
proposal  of  Sir  J.  D.  Harding  that  he  came  to  Paris  to 
obtain  the  post  of  counsel  to  the  British  embassy,  an  office 
which  brought  to  the  titular  considerable  practice.  But 
when  Mr.  Crawford  thought  he  was  sure  of  being  ap- 
pointed it  was  suddenly  swept  away.  He  then  was  intro- 
duced by  Thackeray,  whom  he  had  known  at  the  Garrick 
club  and  deanery,  to  the  Daily  News,  and  became  its 
correspondent.  Thackeray  says  in  his  memoirs  that  Mr. 
Crawford  was  the  model  from  which  he  drew  George 
Warrington.  Mr.  Crawford's  death  was  a  terrible  blow 
to  his  wife.  She  wrote  to  a  friend  a  short  time  after  a 
letter  so  characteristic  that  I  venture  to  quote  a  few 
lines:  "  He  died  unexpectedly  and  by  himself.  When  I 
came  in  from  doing  his  work  I  found  him  dead  in  his 
bed.  I  was  not  conscious  then  or  for  some  weeks  later 
of  the  shock  I  received.  I  was  like  spring  steel  to 
resist  the  innumerable  difficulties  which  I  had  to  face  and 
to  discharge  the  duties  I  owed  to  him  and  the  children. 
But  since  these  difficulties  have  been  surmounted  I  feel 
in  such  solitude.  I  should  like  to  go  and  cry  my  eyes 


IN  PARIS  DURING  THE  SIEGE.  79 

out  in  some  wild  spot  away  from  everybody.  But  this 
feeling  must  not  be  indulged  in.  Life  would  not  be 
worth  a  straw  were  it  not  for  its  heroic  sides,  and  there  is 
no  heroism  in  acting  like  a  child  that  whimpers  over  a 
loss  or  a  cross  when  one  is  in  affliction." 

Mrs.  Crawford  was  her  husband's  constant  companion 
in  his  journalistic  work,  ever  accompanying  him  to  the 
Caf£  Veron,  in  the  Boulevard  Montmartre,  where  in  the 
days  before  the  invention  of  the  telephone  and  when  tele- 
grams were  not  speedily  delivered  he  went  late  at  night 
to  send  off  his  dispatches  and  learn  the  latest  news.  Just 
on  the  eve  of  the  siege  of  Paris,  when  everyone  was 
fleeing  from  the  menaced  city,  Labouchere  came  late  at 
night  to  the  Cafe"  Veron  seeking  Mr.  Crawford  and 
found  to  his  surprise  Mrs.  Crawford  still  in  Paris,  she 
having  refused  to  leave  her  husband.  After  using  every 
argument  to  persuade  her  to  go  to  England  he  finally 
remarked  with  his  usual  causticity:  "I  will  take  your 
place  ;  it  will  be  a  good  thing  for  my  heirs  were  I  to 
be  killed,  and  a  very  bad  thing  for  your  children."  Mrs. 
Crawford,  however,  refused  to  be  persuaded  and  re- 
mained in  Paris  through  the  siege  and  the  commune. 
Should  she  ever  find  time  to  write  her  memoirs  no  ro- 
mance could  be  more  interesting  than  the  recital  of  her 
experiences  in  the  midst  of  those  stirring  and  extraordi- 
nary scenes. 

There  is  nothing  of  the  dilettante  about  Mrs.  Craw- 
ford. She  is  a  thorough  journalist,  and  allows  no  other 
duties  to  encroach  upon  her  work.  She  thinks  nothing  of 
going  to  her  office,  the  headquarters  of  the  Daily  News 
in  Paris,  after  a  grand  dinner  or  a  ball,  in  her  beautiful 
evening  dress  and  jewels,  to  send  off  the  latest  dispatches 
to  London.  One  of  the  few  women  to  whom  the  French 
government  has  offered  the  decoration  of  the  Legion  of 


8o  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

Honor,  she  refused  it,  requesting  that  it  might  be  given 
to  her  son,  who  is  a  young  and  talented  journalist.  She 
said  to  me  afterward:  "  I  refused  it  because  such  toys  are 
better  for  men  than  for  women." 

Although  women  have  more  liberty  in  America  than 
in  any  other  country  in  the  world,  and  are  allowed  more 
scope  for  the  development  of  their  talents,  I  cannot 
think  of  any  literary  woman  in  America  who  has  the 
social  prestige  which  Mrs.  Crawford  has  both  in  England 
and  France.  It  has  been  remarked  by  many  great  people 
who  have  visited  America  and  who  have  been  feted  and 
entertained  by  social  magnates,  especially  in  New  York, 
that  the  intellectual  element  is  entirely  lacking  in  what  is 
called  "society."  Fashionable  society  and  literary  society 
are  two  distinct  worlds,  as  widely  separated  as  if  an  ocean 
rolled  between  them.  It  has  constantly  been  made  a  sub- 
ject of  reproach  against  American  society  that  it  is  lacking 
in  interest.  This  strange  separation  of  the  two  elements, 
whose  oneness  is  absolutely  necessary  to  constitute  an 
interesting  whole,  is  the  explanation  of  the  lack  which  for- 
eigners find  in  our  social  system.  The  question  how 
to  amalgamate  these  two  elements  in  American  society 
seems  to  be  as  difficult  of  solution  as  the  reconciliation  of 
labor  with  capital. 

Among  the  many  blessings  which  it  is  believed  our 
great  Exposition  may  bring  us  let  us  hope  it  will  attract 
this  charming  and  gifted  woman  to  our  shores.  Certainly 
no  pen  could  describe  us  with  more  accuracy  or  pay  more 
graceful  tribute  to  whatever  virtues  we  may  possess. 


XL— LONDON. 

1890. 

Vigor  and  Variety  of  London  Social  Life. — Conversation  a  Lost 
Art  — Princess  of  Wales  and  Lady  Randolph  Churchill. — 
Famous  Artists,  Beauties,  Statesmen  and  Writers. — A 
"  Home  Rule  Dinner."— Michael  Davitt. 

Of  all  this  great  civilized  world  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury London  is  certainly  the  "  fine  fleur."  It  is  so  vast,  so 
varied,  so  full  of  memories  and  yet  so  identified  with  the 
great  present.  The  movement  never  ceases  day  or  night; 
it  is  a  great  ocean  of  human  beings,  and  amid  this  perpetual 
flux  and  reflux  of  humanity  one  feels  the  grandeur  and  yet 
the  futility  of  the  human  race.  Although  there  are  so 
many  people  that,  as  one  passes  through  the  crowded 
streets,  one  thinks  of  mites  in  the  cheese,  yet  there  is  no 
place  where  the  individual  obtains  greater  recognition. 
The  power  and  the  rights  of  human  intelligence  are  para- 
mount. 

Artists  of  all  kinds  flock  to  London  because  their  real 
merit  becomes  known  and  recompensed  sooner  than  in  any 
other  place  in  the  world.  They  are  in  great  demand,  as 
no  entertainment  is  given  without  music  or  recitations  to 
entertain  the  guests.  Americans  can  amuse  themselves, 
but  the  English  cannot.  Conversation  is  even  more  of  a 
lost  art  in  England  than  it  is  in  America.  Concerts  for 
charity,  under  the  smiling  patronage  of  royalty,  are  as 
countless  as  the  stars  in  the  heavens.  Bazaars  with  royal 

81 


82  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

princesses,  duchesses  and  countesses  presiding  over  stalls 
abound  on  every  side.  At  the  last  one,  opened  by  the 
Princess  Louise  at  Sandown  Park,  Esher,  yesterday,  the 
Princess  Alice  of  Albany  showed  her  mechanical  toys  to 
the  visitors,  and  there  was  a  "  Caf^  Chantant,"  organized 
by  A.  Yorke,  supported  by  Countess  Volda  Gleichen, 
Lady  Brooke,  (considered  one  of  the  beauties),  Mrs.  God- 
frey Pearse  and  H.  Herkomer. 

Even  radical  Michael  Davitt  admits  that  there  is  no 
place  in  the  world  where  the  rich  do  so  much  for  the  poor 
as  in  England.  If  the  skins  of  the  descendants  of  the 
English  aristocracy  of  to  day  serve  to  bind  the  future  edi- 
tions of  the  speeches  of  Bradlaugh  and  Davitt,  as  did  those 
of  the  French  aristocracy  the  volumes  of  Rousseau  during 
the  revolution,  it  will  not  be  because  the  English  nobility 
of  the  present  have  not  sufficiently  exerted  themselves  to 
ameliorate  the  condition  of  the  poor.  Opening  hospitals, 
laying  corner-stones,  selling  at  bazaars,  etc.,  seem  to  be 
the  most  cherished  employments  of  royalty  and  of  the 
nobility. 

The  princess  of  Wales  is  still  a  charmingly  beautiful 
woman  and  the  loyal  people  of  England  will  go  any  dis- 
tance to  see  her.  At  a  musicale  given  the  other  evening 
by  Horace  Farquhare  in  honor  of  the  duke  and  duchess  of 
Fife,  although  surrounded  by  the  prettiest  women  of  the 
court,  she  was  not  surpassed  even  by  the  beautiful  Lady 
de  Grey  or  by  Lady  Randolph  Churchill,  with  her  dark 
intellectual  loveliness.  The  princess  was  very  simply 
dressed,  as  it  was  a  small  party,  in  a  white  satin 
gown  covered  with  lace,  diamonds  in  her  hair  and  a 
necklace  of  pearls.  Lady  de  Grey  is  quite  the  "  enfant 
gate""  of  the  English  court,  as  no  one  can  resist  her 
smile,  which  is  as  bright,  and  not  so  rare  as  English 
sunshine.  Mme.  Nordica  looked  lovely  in  a  Worth 


AMERICAN   BEAUTIES.  83 

gown  of  coral  velvet  with  a  diamond  and  ruby  necklace. 
She  asked  the  duke  of  Fife  if  he  should  ever  go 
to  America.  He  replied,  "  Oh,  no ;  the  most  interesting 
part  of  America  is  the  people,  and  they  all  come  here." 
And  so  they  do,  as  London  is  simply  overrun  with  them 
at  the  present  moment.  The  English  women  do  not  half 
like  the  success  the  American  women  have,  but  they  will 
not  be  put  down.  Mrs.  Mackay  gave  a  charming  dinner 
and  ball  a  few  days  ago  and  gives  another  to  meet  roy- 
alty next  week.  At  a  recent  ball  her  train  was  fastened 
to  the  bodice  by  two  marvelous  diamond  arrows.  Mrs. 
Ronalds,  whose  beauty  was  famous  from  New  York  to 
Constantinople,  still  holds  her  place  as  the  most  popular 
American  in  English  society.  Her  Sunday  afternoons  are 
charming,  as  all  the  artists  in  vogue  are  only  too  glad  to 
contribute  whatever  talent  they  possess  to  these  charming 
reunions.  Mrs.  Bloodgood,  of  New  York,  is  another  re- 
cently arrived  American,  whose  diamonds  and  marvel- 
ously  youthful  appearance,  although  the  mother  of  a  son 
of  twenty-five,  are  the  talk  of  the  town.  Another  lady, 
Mrs.  Home-Payne,  is  also  claimed  by  the  Americans  here 
as  at  least  partially  belonging  to  them,  as,  although  an 
Englishwoman  and  at  present  married  to  an  Englishman, 
her  first  husband  was  an  American  and  she  lived  several 
years  in  America.  Her  house  is  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful in  London,  as  she  possesses  the  social  tact  which  is  so 
strangely  lacking  in  many  English  women.  She  is  not 
only  a  woman  of  fashion,  but  a  philanthropist  and  a  literary 
woman.  As  a  writer  she  is  well  known  in  America  under 
her  nom  de  plume  of  "  Princess  Olga."  She  is  a  most 
fascinating  conversationist,  and  quite  celebrated  in  Lon- 
don for  her  bons  mots.  Her  latest  novel  is  a  Russian 
story.  She  has  recently  organized,  in  co-operation  with 
Lord  Latham,  the  Princes'  Concert  Society,  before  which 


84  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

all  the  best  artists  in   London  appear  during    the  season. 
So  much  for  society. 

There  has  been  much  excitement  in  the  political  world 
over  the  "  Brewers'  Compensation  Bill,"  which  the  tories 
were  trying  to  pass.  Mr.  Davitt  prophesies  that  if  it  were 
passed  it  would  bring  the  liberals  into  power  again,  it  be- 
ing the  most  unpopular  measure  brought  before  the  house 
for  years.  There  were  ten  thousand  people  in  the  park 
to  protest  against  it,  Mr.  Davitt  being  one  of  the  speakers. 
It  was  a  bill  to  recompense  publicans  whose  licenses 
should  be  taken  from  them,  thus,  the  liberals  said,  "  pen- 
sioning vice."  In  one  small  town  of  400  inhabitants  there 
are  fifty-two  public  houses.  The  temperance  people 
clamor  for  the  suppression  of  these  houses  all  over  the 
kingdom,  and  the  tories,  wishing  to  preserve  the  votes  of 
the  rich  publicans  and  brewers,  were  determined  to  pass  a 
bill  to  compensate  them  for  any  loss  which  they  might 
sustain.  As  it  was  proposed  not  only  to  compensate  them 
for  the  loss  of  the  license,  but  also  for  a  business  and  any 
vested  interests,  the  cost  to  the  country  would  have 
amounted  to  several  million  pounds  sterling.  The  debates 
on  this  bill  have  been  most  interesting,  almost  causing  a 
split  in  the  tory  party,  as  the  liberal  unionists  were  opposed 
to  it.  It  was  said  that  Mr.  Gladstone  hoped  this  might  be 
the  thin  end  of  the  wedge  which  would  bring  about  the 
change  in  the  government  so  anxiously  looked  for  by  the 
liberals.  After  most  lively  debates  in  the  house  the  gov- 
ernment, fearing  the  results  of  pushing  the  measure,  with- 
drew the  obnoxious  clauses. 

Michael  Davitt  is,  by  the  way,  a  most  interesting  con- 
verser.  He  has  hazel  eyes  as  clear  as  a  mirror,  and 
he  possesses,  one  can  see  at  a  glance,  the  faculty  of  ob- 
serving well,  a  wonderfully  clear  intellect  and  the  enthusi- 
asm verging  on  utopianism,  which  always  goes  to  make 


A   HOME   RULE   DINNER.  85 

up  the  true  reformer.  These  tender-hearted,  poetic,  sym- 
pathetic enthusiasts  are  the  men  who  arouse  the  great 
movements  of  the  world. 

From  Rousseau,  as  the  font,  poured  out  a  thousand 
streams,  all  coming  together  in  that  great  revolution  which 
produced  the  "  Terror  "  with  all  its  fatal  but  grand  results 
for  the  liberty  of  the  world,  and  yet  he  himself  said  in 
about  these  words,  (I  have  not  the  original  at  hand): 
"  There  never  was  so  great  a  conflagration  that  I  would 
not  have  quenched  it  with  my  tears."  A  man  who  has 
had  the  courage  to  spend  nine  years  in  prison  for  an  idea, 
as  Davitt  has,  must  possess  the  earnestness  which  sways 
the  multitude. 

At  least  one  dinner  in  the  house  of  commons  is  a  sine 
qua  non  in  a  London  season.  Justin  McCarthy  gave  a 
charming  little  dinner  there  on  Monday  evening.  The 
guests  included  Mrs.  Fernando  Jones,  Miss  McCarthy, 
Miss  Thompson,  Sir  John  Pope  Hennessy,  Justin 
Huntly  McCarthy,  Mr.  Carew  the  Irish  whip,  John 
Dillon,  Mr.  Sexton  and  Mr.  Healy.  We  went  down 
through  most  mysterious  winding  corridors  to  a  small 
dining  room  filled  with  members  and  their  friends.  At 
the  next  table  were  Sir  James  Fergusson  and  Sir  John 
Gorst,  who  though  strong  tories,  evidently  did  not  mind 
the  close  proximity  of  so  many  liberals. 

With  all  these  brilliant  people  present  it  is  needless  to 
say  that  Mr.  McCarthy  had  provided  the  elements  neces- 
sary to  make  the  evening  one  not  soon  to  be  forgotten. 
After  dinner  our  host  took  us  for  a  walk  on  the  terrace 
overlooking  the  Thames,  which  he  has  so  charmingly 
described  in  "The  Right  Honorable."  Mr.  McCarthy  is 
so  well  known  in  America,  both  through  his  delightful 
stories  and  his  lectures,  that  there  is  little  left  for  me  to 
say  about  him.  Brilliant,  witty,  a  delightful  story-steller, 


86  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

genial  and  unpretending,  he  is  admired  even  by  his  most 
bitter  opponents  in  political  life.  He  is  of  great  value  to 
his  party,  as  he  never  loses  his  head,  is  always  prepared 
for  his  adversary,  is  reliable,  moderate  in  his  opinions  and 
clever  in  debate. 

Sir  John  Pope  Hennessy,  who  has  been  governor  of 
her  majesty's  colonies  pretty  well  all  over  the  world,  has 
now  retired  on  a  pension  from  the  government  and  will 
soon  re-enter  parliament  as  a  home  ruler.  He  is  cultured, 
polished,  witty  and  a  finished  diplomat.  The  harmonious 
union  of  so  many  fine  qualities  must  render  him  a  most 
valuable  addition  to  the  home  rule  party.  The  Irish  party, 
by  the  way,  claims  the  prince  of  Wales  as  a  home  ruler. 
The  prince  seems  to  follow  St.  Paul's  behest  to  be  "all 
things  to  all  men,"  as  all  parties  claim  him.  He  is  un- 
doubtedly the  most  popular  man  in  England,  and  has  done 
much  to  preserve  the  loyal  and  monarchical  spirit  here 
which  is  so  fast  dying  out  in  all  countries.  He  is  kind  to 
every  one  with  whom  he  comes  in  contact,  thoughtful  in 
all  the  details  of  social  life,  and  never  fails  to  do  the  proper 
thing  at  the  proper  time.  Emerson  says  :  "  The  secret 
of  success  in  society  is  a  certain  heartiness  and  sympathy." 
The  prince  possesses  in  a  marked  degree  these  qualities, 
which  one  great  American  philosopher  considered  the  key 
to  the  popular  heart. 

Party  feeling  runs  surprisingly  high  in  England.  The 
conservatives,  however,  are  much  more  bitter  against  Mr. 
Gladstone  than  the  liberals  against  Lord  Salisbury ;  why, 
I  do  not  pretend  to  explain.  Many  conservatives  become 
pale  with  anger  at  the  mere  mention  of  Mr.  Gladstone's 
name.  A  few  days  ago  Mr.  Gladstone  attended  Mrs. 
Irving  Winslow's  Ibsen  reading  at  the  Haymarket.  He 
only  remained,  however,  a  short  time,  as  there  was  a  great 
contest  in  the  house  that  day  about  the  Brewers'  Compen- 


SIR   FREDERICK   LEIGHTON.  87 

sation  bill.  The  government  was  only  saved  from  defeat 
that  day  by  a  few  conservative  members  fortunately  re- 
turning from  Ascot  just  in  time  to  vote. 

To-morrow  the  second  meeting  of  the  Four-in-Hands 
takes  place,  which  I  shall  hope  to  describe  in  my  next 
letter. 

The  disciples  of  art  in  London  don't  hide  away  in  gar- 
rets, or  dwell  among  the  lowly  and  depend  upon  posterity 
for  recognition.  The  great  artists  of  this  metropolis  live 
in  palaces,  dine  with  princes  and  dukes,  and  sell  their  pic- 
tures for  sums  which  in  olden  times  would  have  been  a 
king's  ransom. 

Sir  Frederick  Leighton,  president  of  the  Royal  Acad- 
emy, has  a  house  which  is  a  sort  of  Mecca,  to  which  all 
lovers  of  art  turn  their  footsteps.  In  the  midst  of  fash- 
ionable London,  it  is  yet  secluded  from  all  the  noise  and 
bustle  of  the  city  and  has  a  garden  which  is  a  glimpse  of 
fairyland.  Sir  Frederick  says  he  has  planted  every  tree 
in  it  but  one. 

It  would  require  the  pen  of  a  Keats  or  a  Shelley  to 
describe  adequately  such  green  grass,  such  thickly-leaved 
trees,  such  romantic  nooks.  The  house  is  a  sort  of  Ara- 
bian Nights'  palace.  As  one  enters  there  is  a  harmonious 
effect  of  color,  of  sound,  the  delicious  rippling  of  water 
is  heard  and  one  is  transported  as  if  by  magic  into  the 
Orient.  Standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  famous  Ara- 
bian Hall  we  wished  that  we  might  murmur  a  few  lines  of 
"  Omar  Khayyam,"  in  fact  one  probably  says  nothing 
unpoetic  there,  but  "  How  beautiful ! "  In  the  center  is  a 
fountain  playing  into  a  basin  cut  from  a  solid  block  of 
black  marble.  The  floor  is  laid  in  exquisite  mosaic  work, 
designed  by  Atchison,  and  the  walls  are  of  tiles  from 
Damascus.  A  frieze  of  gold  mosaic,  one  of  Walter 
Crane's  finest  works,  encircles  the  ceiling.  There  are 


88  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

eleven  windows  of  stained  glass,  eight  from  Damascus. 
One  of  these,  containing  a  large  piece  of  blue  glass  in  the 
center,  Sir  Frederick  calls  "  the  window  with  the  blue 
eye."  The  ordinary  windows  are  covered  by  exquisitely 
carved  wood  work  brought  from  Cairo,  parts  of  which 
slide  up,  giving  a  glimpse  of  the  garden.  The  caps  of  the 
marble  columns  supporting  the  archway  are  copies  of  the 
celebrated  carved  ones  in  Palmyra.  Some  of  the  Persian 
tiles  contain  figures  of  great  beauty,  but,  as  the  Suni  did 
not  permit  any  representation  of  human  beings  or  beasts, 
their  throats  are  often  cut  or  their  heads  quite  severed 
from  their  bodies.  The  very  soul  and  poetry  of  art  is  in 
this  room.  While  we  stood  admiring  it  a  ray  of  the  after- 
noon sun  stole  through  the  window,  giving  a  touch  of  life 
and  warmth  to  the  surroundings,  and  the  distant  sound  of 
music  came  with  it.  The  music  came  from  the  Hunga- 
rian band,  which  was  discoursing  sweet  strains  to  Mr. 
Val  Prinsep's  guests  next  door,  where  a  garden  party  was 
going  on. 

Leaving  the  mysterious  and  visionary  atmosphere  of 
the  Arabian  Hall  we  went  into  the  salon  on  the  ground 
floor,  which  contains  a  number  of  beautiful  pictures — four 
Corots,  "Hempstead  Heath,"  by  Constable,  who  really 
founded  the  school  of  "  realistic  landscape."  George  Ma- 
son's first  English  picture  also  hangs  here.  He  began 
painting  in  Italy  and,  after  returning  to  England,  was  still 
haunted  by  contadini,  vineyards  and  Italian  skies.  Finally 
at  Sir  Frederick  Leighton's  suggestion,  he  painted  an 
English  picture  taken  from  the  quiet  scenes  around  his 
own  English  home.  As  George  Eliot  has  reproduced 
these  scenes  with  consummate  art  by  her  pen,  so  has  George 
Mason  reproduced  them  with  his  brush.  From  this  time 
he  sought  his  inspiration  near  at  hand,  and  everybody 
knows  with  what  success. 


A   FAMOUS   STUDIO.  89 

At  every  step  in  this  wonderful  house  we  discern  some 
gem  of  art,  some  exquisite  bit  of  china,  some  priceless 
sketch  by  an  old  master,  an  Anstolian  or  a  Rhodian  vase, 
which  might  inspire  an  ode  ;  a  cloisonn^  pa«el,  a  Satsuma 
plate,  delicately  wrought  in  gold  ;  Japanese  panels,  fine  as 
Greek  art,  superbly  composed  and  photographically  cor- 
rect. One  picture  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  containing  the 
portrait  of  Edmund  Burke  and  Lord  Buckingham,  is  par- 
ticularly interesting  to  artists,  as  showing  the  modus  oper- 
andi  of  the  great  master.  All  the  accessories  of  the  pic- 
ture are  quite  complete,  only  the  figures  unfinished. 

On  the  next  floor  are  Sir  Frederick's  two  immense  stu- 
dios— one  for  winter,  the  other  for  summer,  the  latter  all 
of  glass. 

In  the  winter  studio  are  a  number  of  exquisite  little 
sketches  by  Sir  Frederick  himself,  taken  in  Thebes,  Al- 
giers, Seville,  Asia  Minor,  Ireland  ;  in  fact,  all  over  the 
world  except  America.  He  models  in  clay  many  of  the 
figures  for  his  pictures.  The  clay  models  for  "Perseus 
and  Andromeda,"  his  next  Paris  Academy  pictures,  are 
already  completed.  We  also  saw  the  original  sketch  of 
the  "  Athlete,"  his  first  statue,  exhibited  in  1878.  There 
is  also  a  charming  "  Gioconda,"  by  Sir  Frederick,  and  a 
portrait  of  his  sister,  who  is  writing  the  life  of  Browning. 
She  has  an  intellectual,  spirituelle  face,  and  the  painting  is 
as  fine  and  delicate  as  a  miniature. 

In  a  portfolio  there  are  a  number  of  original  drawings 
by  Michel  Angelo,  Claude,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  four  designs 
by  Michel  Angelo  for  his  "  David  and  Goliath,"  a  child  in 
a  cradle  by  Rembrandt,  the  Temple  of  Tivoli  and  a  sketch 
of  the  Colosseum  before  restoration,  by  Claude.  There  is 
also  a  very  interesting  drawing  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
of  a  beautiful  lady  he  saw  walking  in  St.  James'  Park, 
the  fashionable  promenade  of  those  days,  whose  "fasci- 


90  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

nating  leer,"  as  the  quaint  old  account  written  on  the  back 
of  the  picture  expresses  it,  so  took  his  fancy  that  he 
sketched  her,  but  never  learned  her  name.  There  is  also 
an  engraving  presented  to  Sir  Frederick  by  the  prince  of 
Wales,  which  is  extremely  interesting  as  giving  an  exact 
representation  of  the  Royal  Academy  as  it  was  in  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds'  time.  It  has  always  been  the  custom 
for  the  president  of  the  academy  to  show  the  monarch  or 
the  heir  apparent  around  the  rooms  on  the  opening  day. 
As  Sir  Frederick  has  so  often  rilled  this  office  for  Prince 
Albert  Edward  he,  happening  to  see  this  old  print  repre- 
senting Sir  Joshua  as  cicerone  to  the  prince  of  his  time, 
sent  it  to  Sir  Frederick  as  a  souvenir. 

In  a  small  room  adjoining  the  large  studio  there  are 
several  fine  Schiavones,  marvelous  in  color,  a  portrait  of 
Tintoretto  and  many  other  beautiful  old  pictures,  also  a 
carpet  supposed  to  have  belonged  to  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots.  In  this  room  there  is  a  balcony  looking  down  into 
the  "Arabian  Hall"  which  is  a  picture  in  itself,  where 
one  can  sit  on  an  ancient  prayer  rug  and  dream  of  Sara- 
cenic palms  and  the  seven  heavens  of  Mohamed, 

The  fair  phantom  goddess,  art,  is  the  only  feminine 
element  ^vhich  has  been  allowed  to  remain  permanently  in 
this  charming  abode.  To  her  Sir  Frederick  has  poured 
out  the  incense  of  his  admiration  and  given  all  the  devo- 
tion of  his  youth  and  manhood.  Rumor  says  that  many 
charming  women  have  tried  to  dispossess  the  muse,  but 
without  success. 

Sir  Frederick  Leighton  is  the  beau  ideal  of  an  artist. 
Handsome,  distinguished,  brilliant,  witty,  a  man  of  the 
world,  yet  absorbed  in  his  art.  He  has  the  souffle*  of  gen- 
ius, the  strong  individual  and  subtle  nature  which  has 
"  light  to  see  beyond  the  garments  and  the  outer  halls  of 
life  into  life  itself."  Many  of  his  pictures  epitomize  a 


SIR  JOHN   EVERETT   MILLAIS.  91 

scene  from  the  far-off  pagan  ages,  an  Andromeda,  a 
Psyche,  a  Daphne,  a  tragic  poetess,  all  delicate,  charming 
creations,  fresh  with  the  freshness  of  a  world  in  its  spring- 
time. The  touch  of  truth  is  combined  with  the  idealism 
which  makes  our  thoughts  winged  as  we  looked  at  them. 

His  picture,  "  The  Bath  of  Psyche,"  now  in  the  Acad- 
emy, has  been  purchased  by  the  Royal  Academy,  as  it  is 
one  of  the  choicest  gems  of  modern  art. 

Sir  John  Everett  Millais  is  another  of  these  artist 
princes.  In  his  magnificent  house  in  Palace  Gate  he  has 
some  chef  d'oeuvres  which  Sir  Frederick  does  not  possess, 
viz.,  a  beautiful  wife  and  a  whole  bevy  of  lovely  daugh- 
ters. He  was  born  an  artist,  as  at  the  age  of  eight  he  re- 
ceived a  medal  for  his  drawing  from  the  antique.  He  is 
just  now  painting  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Joseph  Chamberlain, 
ne'e  Miss  Endicott,  of  whom  an  Englishman  said  to  me 
the  other  day  that  she  was  the  only  American  he  had  ever 
seen  who  had  absolutely  no  American  accent. 

To  be  painted  by  Millais  gives  a  woman  a  cachet  which 
nothing  else  can.  His  portrait  of  the  "Jersey  Lily," 
launched  her  on  the  world  as  a  beauty,  and  his  exquisite 
picture,  "No,"  made  its  original,  Miss  Tennant,  now 
Mrs.  Stanley,  famous  at  once.  He  has  a  real  cult  for 
pretty  faces ;  he  admires  his  wife,  he  admires  his  daugh- 
ters, and  paints  them,  and  his  brush  finds  inspiration  in  the 
beauty  around  him.  He  has  a  very  fine  portrait  of  Glad- 
stone and  his  grandson  in  the  academy,  also  a  landscape 
with  the  inscription  : 

The  moon  is  up  and  yet  it  is  not  night. — Byron. 

It  suggests  the  stillness  of  evening  and  the  melancholy 
of  autumn ;  the  tints  are  brown  and  there  is  the  quiet, 
pulseless  air  of  the  time  when  the  noises  of  the  day  have 
ceased  and  those  of  night  have  not  begun. 


92  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

H.  W.  B.  Davis  is  the  finest  animal  painter  in  Eng- 
land. Sir  Frederick  Leighton  said  of  him  that  "  nothing 
could  be  better  than  his  pictures."  His  picture,  the 
"  Bealloch  Na-Ba,"  shows  us  a  herd  of  deer  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Scotland.  The  mist  is  rolling  off  the  tops  and 
sides  of  the  hills  and  one  of  the  deer  stands  with  his  mag- 
nificent head  slightly  turned  as  if  listening.  Mr.  Davis 
has  three  pictures  in  the  academy.  They  are  all  exquis- 
itely painted.  In  the  "  Placid  Morning  on  the  Wye"  the 
animals  live,  the  water  flows  placidly,  there  is  movement 
and  life,  but  at  the  same  time  it  breathes  quiet  and  rest- 
fulness.  Mr.  Davis  lives  in  Landseer's  old  house,  a  beau- 
tiful old  place  like  an  Italian  villa,  surrounded  by  a  charm- 
ing garden. 

Each  one  of  Mr.  Davis'  sketches,  of  which  there  are 
many  in  his  studio,  is  a  gem.  Every  blade  of  grass,  every 
flower  in  among  the  marshy  grass  where  cows  love  to 
stand  knee  deep  in  verdure,  is  painted  with  the  truthfulness 
and  artistic  beauty  which  only  an  artist  who  loves  nature 
can  give. 

Grosvenor  House,  the  Duke  of  Westminster's  town 
house,  also  contains  a  magnificent  collection  of  pictures. 
In  the  first  drawing-room,  a  nobly-proportioned  room 
overlooking  a  large  garden,  is  Gainsborough's  famous 
"  Blue  Boy."  Some  other  artist  had  said  to  Gainsborough 
that  it  was  impossible  to  make  artistic  effects  with  blues. 
To  disprove  this  he  painted  the  "  Blue  Boy,"  one  of  the 
most  exquisite  bits  of  painting  he  ever  did.  There  is  also 
a  very  beautiful  portrait  of  Mrs.  Siddons  as  "  The  Tragic 
Muse,"  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  in  the  brown  tones  he  so 
much  affected.  The  next  room  on  the  left  is  a  small  but 
charming  little  boudoir,  all  in  yellow,  containing  china  so 
exquisitely  fine  and  delicate  that  it  would  be  almost  as 
worthy  of  an  ode  as  a  Greek  vase.  The  dining-room,  still  to 


GROSVENOR   HOUSE.  93 

the  left  of  this  room,  is  long,  narrow  and  lofty,  and  the  walls 
are  lined  with  almost  priceless  gems  of  art.  We  noticed 
particularly  a  portrait  of  Vandyke  painted  by  himself, 
holding  in  his  hand  an  enormous  sunflower,  its  golden  tint 
harmonizing  wonderfully  with  the  handsome  dark  face  of 
the  famous  painter.  He  has  the  dreamy,  refined  face  of  the 
artist,  with  all  the  grace  and  dash  of  a  Spanish  "  caballero." 
On  the  right  of  the  first  salon  we  entered  is  another  large 
room,  a  music-room,  in  which  the  duke  of  Westminster's 
children  and  their  friends  were  having  a  dancing  lesson. 
Still  to  the  right  of  this  is  a  magnificent  ball-room,  whose 
walls  are  adorned  by  four  great  pictures  by  Rubens. 

The  duke  of  Westminster  is  probably  the  richest  man 
in  the  world,  and,  strangely  enough,  much  of  the  money 
came  into  the  Grosvenor  family  with  the  bride  of  Sir  Richard 
Grosvenor,  who  inherited  a  large  fortune  from  his  uncle, 
who  was  a  lawyer  in  the  time  of  Charles  II.  During  the 
plague  numbers  of  people  died  who  had  left  their  title 
deeds  in  his  possession.  As  no  one  claimed  them  the 
property  remained  in  his  hands.  In  this  way,  it  is  said, 
the  great  Pimlico  and  Belgravia  estates  came  into  the  pos- 
session of  the  Grosvenor  family.  The  present  duchess  of 
Westminster  is  a  very  graceful  and  amiable  woman. 

We  went  to  see  Alma  Tadema  the  other  day  in  his 
delightful  house  in  St.  John's  Wood.  He  had  just  returned 
from  Germany,  bringing  with  him  a  quantity  of  treasures 
in  the  form  of  old  embroideries.  He  is  building  a  new 
studio,  a  very  large  room  with  a  golden  dome,  which, 
when  finished,  will  surpass  in  magnificence  all  the  other 
studios  in  London.  The  workmen  have  been  working  on 
it  a  year  now  and  it  is  not  nearly  completed.  We  took 
tea  in  a  quaint  oak-paneled  room  with  a  charming  little 
Priscilla  by  George  Boughton  looking  down  on  us,  breath- 
ing puritanism  and  winter.  In  Alma  Tadema  the  poetic 


94        GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

soul  does  not  reveal  itself  in  the  outward  material,  as  he  is 
short  and  rather  stout,  and  merriment  reigns  supreme  on 
his  countenance.  The  poetry  all  goes  into  his  pictures,  in 
which  the  colors  are  as  exquisitely  delicate  as  those  in  the 
wing  of  a  butterfly. 

We  went  through  many  intricate,  winding  paths  to  the 
studio  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  where  the  artist  showed 
us  his  last  picture  on  the  easel,  called  "  A  Promise  of 
Spring."  A  young  girl  is  sitting  on  a  marble  bench  under 
an  apple  tree  in  full  bloom.  A  youth  bends  over  her, 
whispering  love  in  her  ear.  One  of  the  ladies  present  said 
to  Mr.  Tadema  that  there  was  no  way  of  expressing  in 
music  what  this  picture  expresses.  He  replied  that,  the 
idea  of  joy  being  paramount,  it  could  be  expressed  in  music 
quite  as  well,  but  that  he  hoped  he  had  as  thoroughly 
given  to  his  picture  the  sentiment  of  joy  and  love  and 
springtime  that  even  the  most  melancholy  person  could 
not  look  at  it  without  smiling. 

England  has  250  schools  of  art  under  the  control  of 
the  government.  To  these  schools  is  due  the  enormous 
advance  which  has  been  made  in  English  art  manufactures 
and  decorations.  Even  the  designs  for  lace  curtains  are 
made  by  pupils  from  these  schools.  Every  year  there  is  a 
national  competition  between  the  various  art  schools,  the 
board  of  examiners  consisting  of  civil  engineers,  architects, 
practical  designers  and  painters,  all  eminent  in  their  own 
line.  Among  the  members  this  year  were  Messrs.  Walter 
Crane,  G.  Aitchison,  A.  R.  A.  E.  J.  Poynter,  R.  A.; 
Hamo  Thornycroft,  R.  A.;  H.  Graham  Harris,  M.  I.  C. 
E.,  and  a  number  of  others.  One  gold  medal  was  given 
for  a  well-modeled  frieze  for  a  mantelpiece,  another  one 
for  designs  for  printed  cotton  hangings,  another  for  designs 
for  carpets,  one  for  designs  for  tiles,  one  for  metal  work, 
three  silver  and  six  bronze  medals  for  architectural  designs, 


ENGLAND'S  ART  SCHOOLS.          95 

and  so  on.  From  this  brief  account  it  can  be  seen  what 
an  immense  factor  these  schools  have  been  in  raising  the 
standard  of  taste  in  England.  There  should  be  a  school 
of  this  kind  in  every  large  city  in  the  United  States,  estab- 
lished and  sustained  by  the  Government. 

The  Italian  opera  has  been  more  of  a  success  this  sea- 
son in  London  than  for  many  years.  The  boxes  are  all 
subscribed  for  and  some  members  of  the  royal  family  were 
always  present.  The  princess  of  Wales  is  particularly  fond 
of  opera  and  would  not  miss  one  of  the  good  nights  for 
anything  else.  When  asked  one  day  to  open  some  char- 
itable institution  she  replied,  with  her  usual  amiability  :  "  I 
will  do  anything  during  the  day  if  only  my  opera  be  left 
to  me  in  the  evening."  The  princess  was  usually  accom- 
panied by  her  daughters,  the  youngest  of  whom  is  a  very 
pretty  girl,  and  also  by  the  duke  of  Clarence  and  Avon- 
dale,  better  known  as  Prince  "Eddie,"  who,  by  the  way, 
has  been  very  devoted  to  a  beautiful  American  girl  this 
season.  The  duchess  of  Edinburgh  was  also  very  often 
in  the  royal  box.  Covent  Garden  is  such  a  dismal,  old- 
fashioned-looking  place,  so  badly  lighted  and  so  unbecom- 
ingly upholstered  that  we  wonder  why  a  new  opera  house 
has  not  been  built  long  ago.  However,  in  a  city  where 
there  are  no  messenger  boys,  where  after  8  o'clock  in  the 
evening  one  cannot  send  a  telegram  without  going  to  one 
of  the  central  stations,  Victoria  street  or  Charing  Cross, 
for  example,  where  the  telephone  is  a  rarity,  we  need  not 
be  surprised  at  any  lack  of  enterprise. 

The  boxes  are  small  in  Covent  Garden,  only  holding 
four,  of  whom  two  can  see  very  little.  The  curtains  are 
a  dull  red  in  color  and  there  is  simply  no  attempt  at  decor- 
ation. The  audiences,  however,  are  much  more  enthusi- 
astic than  ours  in  America.  The  first  night  of  the 
"  Prophet  "  was  a  great  night ;  every  seat  was  filled  and 


96        GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

the  most  beautiful  women  in  London  adorned  the  boxes. 
Among  these  was  the  duchess  of  Leinster,  considered  by 
some  people  to  be  the  handsomest  woman  in  Europe. 
She  has  a  thoroughly  Irish  type  of  beauty  (her  mother 
was  an  Irish  woman),  a  delicate  rose  leaf  complexion,  jet 
black  hair  and  an  exquisite  mouth  and  teeth. 

Lady  Brooke,  also  one  of  the  great  beauties,  was  there 
and  our  own  American  beauty,  Mrs.  Naylor-Leyland, 
formerly  Miss  Jennie  Chamberlain.  All  the  American 
girls  with  aspirations  envy  her,  as  she  has  won  a  husband, 
who,  although  not  the  happy  possessor  of  a  title,  has 
£40,000  a  year  and  a  magnificent  house  at  Hyde  Park 
Gate.  The  opera  was  magnificently  given.  Great  floods 
of  melody  poured  through  the  house,  and  Mme.  Richard 
with  her  grand  contralto  voice  thrilled  us  with  the  sorrows 
of  the  noble-hearted  mother  of  the  false  prophet.  The 
Jean  de  Leyde  of  de  Reszke  is  a  superb  creation.  His  pale 
face  seemed  to  shed  a  mild  radiance  around  him  and  his 
white  robes  and  long  reddish  hair  smoothly  parted  in  the 
middle  and  falling  on  each  side  of  his  face  still  further 
added  to  the  effect.  Some  of  the  scenes  between  him  and 
Mme.  Richard  were  almost  painful  in  their  intensity. 

Surely  no  greater  opera  than  "  Le  Prophete  "  has  ever 
been  written  and  no  greater  artists  than  Jean  de  Reszke 
and  Mme.  Richard  have  ever  interpreted  it.  The  music 
carries  one  away  on  waves  of  sound,  further  and  further, 
where  every  vibration  is  a  new  delight  and  swells  higher 
and  higher,  until  it  culminates  in  the  wonderful  triumphal 
music  of  the  crowning  of  the  prophet. 

The  first  time  I  saw  Mme.  Richard  was  in  Saint-Saens' 
opera,  "  Henry  VIII.,"  at  the  Grand  Opera  in  Paris.  She 
took  the  part  of  Anne  Boleyn,  and  Krause  made  a  mag- 
nificent Katharine  of  Arragon.  Jean  de  Reszke  was  also 
singing  in  Paris  at  the  Chdtelet,  where  Italian  opera  had 


GRAND   OPERA   AT  PARIS.  97 

been  revived  under  the  management  of  the  great  barytone, 
Maurel.  De  Reszke  was  then  a  barytone,  but  some  time 
after  developed,  under  the  instruction  of  Sbriglia,  I 
believe,  this  magnificent  tenor  voice.  Gayarre*  was  also 
singing  there  at  the  same  time,  moving  his  audiences  to 
tears  with  those  glorious  tones  which  we  shall  hear  no 
more.  I  have  never  heard  anything  so  exquisitely  melo- 
dious as  his  singing  of  the  "  In  Terra  Solo  "  in  "  Lucretia 
Borgia."  The  audience  used  to  rise  like  one  person  and 
call  him  out  time  after  time. 

To  return  to  Covent  Garden,  Nordica  and  Melba  have 
been  the  favorite  prima  donnas  this  season.  It  was  Mel- 
ba's  first  appearance  in  London,  although  she  had  been 
singing  in  Paris  with  much  success.  She  is  an  Australian 
and  very  handsome,  but  much  more  effective  off  the  stage 
than  on.  She  was  at  Mrs.  Ronalds'  last  Sunday  "  at 
home,"  as  were  also  Mme.  Nordica,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Oudin, 
Signor  Perugini,  Mr.  Grossmith  and  a  host  of  other  artists. 
Mr.  Oudin  sang  one  of  Mr.  Boscovitz's  charming  new 
songs,  "  Three  Knights  of  Old."  The  Oudins  have  been 
singing  everywhere  this  season  with  wonderful  success 
and  Mr.  Oudin  has  been  engaged  to  sing  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal roles  in  Sir  Arthur  Sullivan's  new  opera  which  will 
be  brought  out  in  London  in  the  autumn.  They  have 
taken  a  house  near  Onslow  Square  and  will  remain  in 
London  for  the  winter.  Mme.  Nordica  has  also  a  charm- 
ing house  in  London,  with  a  large  garden,  and  furnished 
with  exquisite  taste.  In  the  drawing-room  she  has  a 
beautiful  old  chair  given  to  her  by  the  duke  of  Cambridge. 
In  the  music  room  there  are  many  souvenirs,  each  mark- 
ing some  successful  period  in  her  career.  Among  them 
are  the  photographs  of  the  prince  and  princess  of  Wales, 
with  their  autographs. 

One  of  the  most  delightful  affairs  of  the  season  was  the 


98  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

first  night  of  Mr.  Charles  Wyndham's  new  play,  "  Sow- 
ing and  Reaping."  It  is  a  comedy  sparkling  with  wit 
and  fun  from  beginning  to  end.  Mr.  Wyndham  is  inim- 
itable, first  as  the  gay  bachelor,  the  hero  of  innumerable 
love  affairs,  then  as  the  jealous  benedict,  suspecting  all  his 
friends  of  being  in  love  with  his  wife,  discovering  a  lover's 
ruse  in  their  most  innocent  actions  and  exclaiming,  "  I 
know  that  trick;  I  have  done  it  myself." 

After  the  performance  Mr.  Wyndham  gave  a  recep- 
tion to  about  fifty  of  his  friends  on  the  stage.  Still  later 
Mr.  Ponsonby  and  Mr.  Colnaqhi  appeared  in  one  of  their 
delightfully  absurd  melo-dramatic  improvisations,  which 
ended  a  most  charming  evening.  These  two  gentlemen 
are  amateurs,  the  former  being  the  son  of  Sir  Henry  Pon- 
sonby ;  but  they  are  so  clever  that  the  profession  would  be 
only  too  glad  to  welcome  them.  As  it  is,  they  are  con- 
tinually acting  for  charity  and  for  their  friends.  Among 
the  Americans  present  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jack  Gardiner, 
of  Boston;  Mrs.  Fernando  Jones  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  de 
Koven,  of  Chicago;  Mr.  Smalley,  Mrs.  Ellis,  also  of  Bos- 
ton, and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bronson  Howard. 


XII.— FRANKFORT. 

1890. 

Goethe  and  his  Mother. — Portrait  of  the  Poet  with  the  Face  and 
Figure  of  a  young  God. — Favorite  Friends  of  the  Great 
Genius. — Miquel,  Minister  of  Finance. — At  Ober-Ammer- 
gau. — Is  the  Passion  Play  Really  Reverential? 

Frankfort  has  two  distinct  sites,  one  modern  and 
cosmopolitan,  the  other  ancient  and  full  of  reminders 
of  old  German  life.  Many  of  the  narrow  streets  are 
as  picturesque  as  they  were  in  the  days  when  they 
were  lighted  only  by  oil  lamps  hung  on  ropes  stretched 
across  them,  or  when  Goethe,  with  the  "face  and 
figure  of  a  young  god,"  was  dreaming  of  new  worlds  of 
science  and  philosophy  to  conquer,  and  looking  love  into 
the  eyes  of  the  beautiful  Maximiliane  von  La  Roche, 
Charlotte  already  half  forgotten,  although  his  feeling  for 
her  inspired  the  great  book  which  was  the  mouthpiece  of 
the  vague  unrest  and  despairing  sentimentality  of  the  end 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  In  one  of  these  old  Frankfort 
streets  is  the  house  in  which  Goethe  was  born.  His 
mother  was  but  eighteen.  She  says  in  one  of  her  letters: 
"  I  and  my  Wolfgang  have  always  held  fast  to  each  other 
because  we  were  both  young  together." 

As  we  wandered  through  the  low-ceilinged  rooms, 
each  one  containing  some  memento  of  the  great  poet,  we 
fancied  we  could  see  the  gay,  pleasure-loving,  sympathetic 
young  mother  telling  stories  of  fire  spirits,  water  nymphs 
and  fairies,  while  the  young  Goethe  listened,  his  large 

99 


100  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

black  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  fearing  that  he  might  lose  a 
word. 

There  is  a  portrait  of  Goethe  in  the  house,  taken  when 
he  was  a  youth  of  two  or  three  and  twenty,  which  quite 
justifies  the  enthusiasm  of  his  contemporaries  as  to  the 
extraordinary  beauty  of  his  face  and  symmetry  of  his 
figure.  Wieland  wrote  of  him,  after  meeting  him  at 
Weimar:  u  How  I  loved  that  magnificent  youth  as  I  sat 
beside  him  at  the  table !  All  that  I  can  say,  after  more 
than  one  crisis  which  I  have  endured,  is  this :  Since  that 
morning  my  soul  is  as  full  of  Goethe  as  a  dew  drop  of  the 
morning  sun.  *  *  *  I  believe  the  god-like  creature 
will  remain  longer  with  us  than  he  intended."  Heine 
speaks  of  him  as  "  a  beautiful  youth,  all  genius  and  strength 
from  head  to  foot,  his  heart  full  of  feeling,  his  soul  full  of 
fire  and  eagle- winged." 

Frankfort  was  also  the  home  of  Lili,  who  with  her 
bright  eyes  and  coquettish  ways  drew  Goethe  into  many 
of  the  festivities  and  gayeties  going  on  among  the  worthy 
Frankfort  burghers,  although  much  against  his  will,  as  we 
may  see  from  the  following  little  poem  he  wrote  to  her : 

With  such  magic  web  she  binds  me, 
To  burst  through  I  have  no  skill, 

All-absorbing  passion  blinds  me, 
Paralyzes  my  poor  will. 

In  her  charmed  sphere  delaying, 
I  must  live,  her  will  obeying; 
Great,  oh!  great  to  me  the  change! 
Love,  oh  free  me!  let  me  range! 

Goethe,,  like  all  poets,  owed  much  to  the  women  that 
surrounded  him.  In  the  first  place,  he  inherited  his 
romantic  temperament  and  love  of  story-telling  from  his 
mother,  the  Frau  Aja;  Charlotte  inspired  "Werther;" 
Fraulein  von  Klettenberg,  the  "  Confessions  of  a  Beauti- 


EMPRESS   FREDERICK.  IOI 

ful  Soul;"  Frederika,  "  Gretchen."  Each  gave  a  little 
piece  to  the  great  mosaic  of  his  genius.  Unlike  Dante  and 
Petrarch  or  the  poets  of  Provence  and  chivalry  who  were 
impelled  to  all  deeds  of  nobility,  virtue  and  heroism  by  the 
platonic  worship  of  one  goddess,  Goethe  had  many. 
However,  the  ten  best  years  of  his  manhood  were  given 
to  one,  the  Frau  von  Stein,  to  whom  he  wrote  over  a 
thousand  letters.  Some  of  his  exquisite  lyrics  were  writ- 
ten to  his  wife,  Christine  Vulpius,  another  deviation  from 
the  paths  of  the  poets  of  the  middle  ages. 

The  Frankfort  of  to-day  is  a  fine  city,  with  wide 
streets,  boulevards  and  magnificent  public  buildings. 
Much  attention  has  been  drawn  there  of  late  by  the  ap- 
pointment of  the  burgomaster,  Dr.  Miquel,  to  the  posi- 
tion of  minister  of  finance  by  the  young  emperor.  Dr. 
Miquel  is  a  finished  orator,  the  founder  of  the  famous 
National  Verein,  and  a  liberal  nationalist;  he  is  even 
accused  of  having  been  in  his  youth  a  follower  of  Karl 
Marx.  But  age  brings  conservatism,  and  he  is  now  a 
moderate  liberal.  It  is  a  strange  fact  that  he  comes  from 
a  family  of  French  emigrants,  from  whence  perhaps 
springs  his  facility  of  speech  and  versatility  of  talent. 

The  German  people  have  not  yet  declared  their  opin- 
ion of  their  new  emperor — they  are  waiting — but  he  is 
constantly  gaining  in  popularity.  It  was  difficult  for  them 
to  shake  off  the  chains  forged  by  Bismarck  and  strength- 
ened by  custom  and  success.  The  Iron  Chancellor  was 
loved  while  he  was  feared.  To  conquer  the  affections  while 
he  subjugated  the  will  was  one  of  Bismarck's  tours  de 
force,  and  his  charm  of  manner  is  as  great  to-day  as  it  was 
when  Prosper  Merimee  and  Motley  wrote  of  him  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago. 

The  Empress  Frederick  is  cordially  hated  in  Germany. 
Marie  Antoinette,  in  the  palmy  days  of  her  youth  and 


102  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

beauty,  was  not  accused  of  more  scandalous  misdemeaners 
than  is  Germany's  ex-empress  in  the  country  of  her  adop- 
tion. Of  course,  the  fact  that  she  brought  an  English 
doctor  to  her  dying  husband  is  the  cause  of  much  of  her 
unpopularity.  If  physicians  from  every  country  in  the 
world  had  been  imported  to  the  bedside  of  General  Gar- 
field  or  General  Grant,  I  do  not  think  the  American  nation 
would  have  taken  it  to  heart.  How  absurd  these  petty 
national  jealousies  seem,  taken  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
wiser  and  nobler  magnanimity  to  other  peoples,  which 
has  been  the  principal  factor  in  making  America  what  she 
is,  not  only,  as  a  great  statesman  in  England  said  the  other 
day,  the  country  of  the  future,  but  the  country  of  the 
present. 

To  go  to  Ober-Ammergau  is  to  take  many  steps 
toward  realizing  the  Rousseauite  ideal  of  a  life  as  near  to 
nature  as  possible.  Nothing  can  be  more  picturesquely 
primitive  than  the  village  of  Ober-Ammergau.  Cows 
wander  through  the  streets,  pavements  and  drainage  are 
unknown,  but  the  air  is  balmy  and  the  mountains  surround 
it  like  a  frame. 

The  theatre  where  the  Passion  Play  (the  magnet  which 
draws  all  footsteps  to  this  modern  Bethany)  is  given  is, 
like  the  town,  exceedingly  primitive,  the  stage  being 
entirely  in  the  open  air,  the  seats  uncushioned  and  only 
the  most  expensive  of  them  under  cover.  Each  one  of  the 
characters  in  the  play  has  his  humble  calling  of  carpenter, 
shoemaker  or  whatever  it  may  be,  and  there  is  a  legend 
that  in  their  everyday  existence  they  seek,  as  far  as  possi- 
ble, to  lead  the  life  of  the  characters  they  represent.  The 
Christ,  for  example,  lives  very  much  apart  from  his  fel- 
lows, surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  seclusion  and  purity. 

Even  Judas  betrays  the  unfortunate  stranger,  as  he  is 
the  agent  of  the  ubiquitous  Cook,  and  with  fair  words 


OBER-AMMERGAU.  103 

sends  one  to  lodge  with  seven  other  victims  in  a  stable 
without  a  qualm  of  conscience.  It  is  a  curious  fact,  how- 
ever, that  in  the  play  Judas  carries  with  him  the  sympathy 
of  the  audience,  as  his  remorse  is  so  real  and  his  situation 
so  hopeless  that  one  forgets  the  crime  in  the  expiation. 

In  personal  appearance  Mayer  is  the  living  representa- 
tion of  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  masterpiece.  He  has  the 
long  black  hair,  the  olive  coloring,  the  penetrating  eyes, 
the  seriousness  of  expression  and  the  dignity  of  mien  of 
of  the  Christ  of  the  "  last  supper."  It  is  no  exaggeration 
to  say  that  he  is  a  great  actor.  He  illustrates  the  truth  of 
the  old  saying,  "  Ars  est  celare  artem,"  "  'Tis  art's  func- 
tion to  conceal  itself."  His  delineation  of  the  character  of 
Christ  is  perfect  in  its,  simplicity  and  repose.  There  are 
no  effects  of  stage  lights,  no  ranting,  no  artificial  aids,  and 
yet  he  holds  his  audience  of  6,000  people  through  the  nine 
hours  of  the  play,  with  the  rain  pouring  or  the  sun  shining 
in  its  summer  heat  on  their  heads.  The  climax  of  this 
great  drama  of  the  crucifixion  is  not  at  the  scene  of  the 
last  supper  or  even  when  the  Master  is  nailed  to  the  cross, 
but  when  he  parts  from  Mary  in  Bethany.  A  sob  went 
through  the  great  audience  like  a  wave.  The  subtle  touch 
of  nature  which  thrills  every  heart  was  there,  and  there 
was  scarcely  a  person  in  the  audience  who  was  not  weep- 
ing. 

The  empress  of  Austria,  who  was  passing  through 
Ober-Ammergau  on  her  sad  pilgrimage  to  visit  all  the 
places  where  her  son  had  been  on  a  tour  which  he  made 
a  short  time  before  his  tragic  death,  seemed  quite  over- 
come by  the  pathos  of  this  parting  between  mother  and 
son.  The  tableaux  which  come  in  between  the  scenes  are 
wonderfully  artistic  in  grouping,  costuming  and  coloring. 

"  The  Gathering  of  the  Manna  in  the  Wilderness  " 
was  even  more  beautiful  in  artistic  effect  than  Rubens' 


104  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

great  picture  in  the  duke  of  Westminster's  gallery  repre- 
senting the  same  scene. 

It  has  often  been  discussed  whether  or  not  this  repre- 
sentation of  the  passion  and  martyrdom  of  Christ  has  a 
tendency  to  increase  religious  feeling.  On  the  whole  it 
seems  to  us  that  it  has  not.  We  may  idealize  nature  until 
it  is  lost  in  art,  but  to  merge  the  ideal  in  the  real  is  to 
destroy  its  essence.  Christ  to  Christians  is  essentially  a 
supernatural  being,  a  God,  but  in  the  play  the  god  is  lost 
sight  of  in  the  sufferings  of  the  man,  and  simply  assumes 
a  place  in  our  minds  among  the  host  of  martyrs  who  have 
died  for  humanity. 


XIII.— BERNHARDT. 

PARIS.— 1890. 

A  New  Play  by  Bernhardt  as  important  as  a  Declaration  of 
War. — Distinguished  Critics  Present. — Marvelous  Studies 
in  Color  and  Draperies. — A  Dream  of  Beauty. — Incidental 
Music  by  Xavier  Leroux. 

The  production  of  a  new  piece  by  Sardou,  with  Sara 
Bernhardt  as  its  heroine,  is  almost  as  important  an  event 
in  Paris  as  a  declaration  of  war  would  be  in  Germany  or 
the  announcement  of  a  corner  on  the  board  of  trade  in 
Chicago.  The  literary  world  has  been  shaken  with  dis- 
cussions as  to  whether  the  divine  Sara's  chameleon-like 
nature  would  be  capable  of  creating  another  great  role, 
and  as  to  whether  Sardou's  facile  pen  would  be  equal  to 
another  semi-barbaric  tragedy. 

The  dress  rehearsal,  which  commenced  at  the  Porte 
St.  Martin  Theatre  yesterday  at  2  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
and  lasted,  with  an  interval  for  dinner,  until  12  o'clock 
last  night,  has  solved  the  question.  "  Cleopatra "  is  a 
wonderful  production.  Author  and  actress  rise  in  har- 
monious unison  to  the  heights  of  greatness.  As  it  is  the 
etiquette  for  the  critics  not  to  write  their  criticisms  after 
the  "  repetition  ge'ne'rale,"  but  to  wait  until  the  public  has 
been  admitted,  their  edict  has  not  yet  gone  forth,  but 
there  is  no  doubt  as  to  what  it  will  be. 

Upon  receiving  our  tickets  we  drove  to  the  theatre  and 
found  perhaps  a  hundred  people  waiting,  the  doors  still 

105 


106  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

closed.  Among  them  we  distinguished  many  of  the  per- 
sons who  rule  the  artistic  and  literary  world  of  Paris. 
Upon  reaching  our  loge,  we  found  in  the  next  loge  on 
our  left  Mme.  Albani,  the  graceful  and  charming  Ameri- 
can prima  donna  of  the  Opera;  next  to  her  Albert  Wolff, 
the  celebrated  critic  of  Figaro,  before  whom  all  aspirants 
to  public  favor  tremble;  although  his  pen  is  kindly  and 
his  eye  as  full  of  merriment  as  a  child's.  A  little  further 
on  sat  Jeanne  Grainier,  one  of  the  three  burlesque  actresses 
who  deserve  the  name,  a  vision  of  beauty  in  a  blue  cape 
and  blue  velvet  "  capeline "  with  black  feathers.  Near 
her,  intently  watching  the  piece,  were  Marie  Magnier,  of 
the  Palais  Royale,  and  Lavigne,  who  is  the  very  spirit  of 
drollery.  On  our  right  sat  Blowitz,  of  the  London 
Times,  Campbell  Clarke,  of  the  Telegraph,  and  below, 
in  the  orchestra  chairs,  all  the  celebrated  critics  of  Paris, 
among  them  Auguste  Vitu,  Maurice  Lefevre  and 
Francois  Sarcey. 

Although  Sara  had  determined  to  make  her  entre"e 
walking,  Sardou  willed  it  otherwise,  and  she  glides  in  repos- 
ing on  a  galley  of  gold,  surrounded  with  her  slaves  and  cov- 
ered with  flowers.  The  sail  of  theboatis  pink,  and  as  bril- 
liantly beautiful  in  color  as  some  of  the  richly-tinted  sails 
of  the  Venetian  fishing  boats  returning  to  the  lagoons  at 
sunset.  She  is  enveloped — as  only  Sara  knows  how  to 
envelop  herself — in  folds  of  blue  crepe  de  chine,  the  color 
of  the  sky,  embroidered  in  topazes,  amethysts,  garnets, 
turquoises  and  other  precious  stones.  Her  hair  is  dark 
red,  the  color  which  is  so  fashionable  now,  and  can  only 
be  obtained  by  a  certain  dye;  it  falls  in  heavy  ringlets, 
and  in  this  scene  is  ornamented  with  the  sacred  serpent  of 
Isis  in  gold  and  precious  stones.  Her  skin  is  a  warm 
amber  in  tint ;  she  is  the  Cleopatra  of  our  dreams. 

In  the  next  scene,  the  palace  at  Thebes,  her  costume  is 


A    DREAM   OF   BEAUTY.  107 

of  pink  crepe  de  chine,  her  waist  encircled  by  a  gold  ser- 
pent with  an  emerald  head  and  enameled  scales.  In  this 
scene  a  veritable  Fellah  danseuse  executes  her  famous 
national  dance,  with  all  its  horrible  contortions  and  wierd 
fascination.  One  can  see  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  muscles 
twisting  themselves  like  snakes  under  the  supple  silk  of 
her  costume,  which  falls  in  graceful  folds  to  her  feet. 

The  third  scene,  the  terrace  at  Memphis  by  starlight, 
is  a  dream  of  beauty  and  a  triumph  of  scenic  art.  The 
queen,  surrounded  by  the  mystery  and  the  grandeur  of  the 
desert,  mourns  the  absence  of  her  lover,  and  commands 
silence  that  she  may  better  listen  to  her  heart  speak.  She 
wears  a  costume  of  yellow  crepe  de  chine  embroidered  in 
gold,  and  gold  sandals.  Her  toes,  as  well  as  her  fingers, 
are  adorned  with  magnificent  rings.  The  scene  with  the 
messenger,  in  which  the  savage  jealousy  and  wounded 
dignity  of  the  queen  shines  through  the  tenderness  and 
fidelity  of  the  woman,  is  a  marvel  of  acting. 

In  the  fourth  scene,  the  night  before  Actium,  she  is 
brought  in  by  slaves  enveloped  in  a  superb  rug  and  con- 
cealed behind  the  curtains  of  Marc  Antony's  couch.  She 
sits  almost  immobile,  hidden  by  the  draperies,  during  the 
love  scene  between  Octavia  and  Marc  Antony,  and  after- 
ward when  Antony's  comrades  tell  him  of  her  infidelity 
and  rouse  him  to  fury  by  their  tales  of  her  infamy;  but 
the  most  evanescent  expression  which  flits  across  her  face, 
or  her  slightest  gesture,  is  sufficient  to  epitomize  a  whole 
gamut  of  emotions.  Then  comes  the  struggle  to  win  back 
her  lover.  She  first  commands  his  respect  as  a  queen  and 
an  ally,  then  uses  all  the  witchery  and  enchantment  for 
which  the  name  Cleopatra  is  the  synonym  to  regain  his 
love. 

The  last  scene  is  rather  disappointing,  as  there  is  no 
dramatic  situation  in  it  in  which  it  is  possible  for  Sara  to 


108  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

rise  to  her  full  power  as  a  tragedienne.  The  attempted 
assassination  of  Octavius  lacks  force.  The  death  scene 
itself,  however,  is  another  of  the  great  artistic  triumphs.  A 
real  asp  is  one  of  the  dramatis  personae  and  when  Cleopatra 
falls  dead  across  the  body  of  Marc  Antony,  the  curtain 
descends  on  this  great  duo  d'amour  which  has  survived 
the  centuries. 

Incidental  music  is  heard  throughout  the  whole  of  the 
piece.  It  was  composed  by  M.  Xavier  Leroux,  who  car- 
ried off  the  Prix  de  Rome  five  years  ago  and  who  is  a 
pupil  of  the  illustrious  Massenet.  It  is  original  and  strik- 
ing and  shows  that  the  young  man  has  much  talent.  In 
the  first  scene  the  flourish  of  sounds  is  produced  by  trum- 
pets and  trombones,  and  the  combination  of  these  two 
instruments  gives  great  power  and  effect  to  the  music. 
Then  comes  in  Cleopatra,  and  the  oriental  coloring  of  her 
entry  is  obtained  by  a  combination  of  flutes,  oboes,  harps, 
mustels  (a  small  instrument  with  a  keyboard  composed  of 
glass  squares),  cystres  and  tambourines.  The  opening 
bars  are  a  bright,  cheerful  march,  which  is  succeeded  by 
a  melodious  phrase  in  A  major  executed  on  flutes,  clarin- 
ettes  and  oboes.  Presently  other  voices  are  heard  ming- 
ling with  the  quartet,  and  the  whole,  joining  in  with  the 
instrumentation  of  the  commencement,  gives  the  morceau 
a  sweet,  melancholy  chord.  The  music  that  precedes  the 
exit  of  Cleopatra  with  Antony  is  the  same  as  for  her  entry. 

In  the  second  act  the  first  number  of  the  Bouffons  bal- 
let is  a  wild  and  at  the  same  time  comical  rhythm  in  which 
the  thumping  of  tam-tams  comes  in  from  time  to  time, 
while  toward  the  end  the  refrain  is  accompanied  by  xylo- 
phones, bells  and  cymbals.  The  second  number  is  a  series 
of  variations  on  a  melody  that  has  an  oriental  color,  the 
first  variations  being  exclusively  accompanied  by  tambou- 
rines and  cymbals,  and  all  this  for  a  sort  of  nautch  dance, 


A   SCENE   ON   THE   NILE.  109 

in  the  midst  of  which  voices  are  heard  which  exalt  the 
feelings  of  the  priestesses,  who,  gradually,  more  and  more 
animated  by  the  sound  of  gongs  and  human  cries,  finish 
their  dance  in  an  eddying  whirl  as  the  choruses  chant  the 
sacred  names  of  the  gods  of  Egypt.  The  interlude  in  D 
flat  that  follows  this  ballet  is  executed  by  the  quartet  and 
harps,  and  there  is  an  alto  solo.  The  style  of  this  music 
is  that  which  suits  the  oriental  legends;  it  is  a  sort  of 
sweet,  melodious  phrasing  of  from  eight  to  ten  measures, 
which  are  regularly  broken  by  a  like  refrain  on  zith- 
ers, harps,  mustels,  flutes  and  a  cymbal.  It  is  wholly  des- 
criptive and  follows  both  the  text  and  the  pantomimic  play 
of  Sara  Bernhardt.  In  act  three  we  see  a  chorus  of  women 
passing  along  the  banks  of  the  Nile  to  an  accompaniment 
of  harps  and  flutes ;  but  the  morceau,  though  written  in  B 
major,  has  no  precise  tonality,  as  it  is  completely  composed 
on  the  oriental  major  gamut,  although  it  is  raised  two 
tones  above  that  key.  This  strange  music  accords  well 
with  the  scenery,  which  represents  pyramids  and  sphynxes 
at  the  back  of  the  city  of  Memphis. 

The  flourishings  of  Roman  and  Egyptian  trumpets  are 
frequently  heard  alternating  and  responding  to  each  other 
in  the  fourth  act,  and  then  in  the  fifth  we  have  two  inci- 
dental melodramas  coming  from  the  temple  of  Typhon, 
where  the  priests  are  at  prayer.  The  invocation  to  Ty- 
phon, which  terminates  this  scene,  is  preceded  by  a  march 
of  priests  and  priestesses  to  the  accompaniment  of  harps 
and  flutes,  which  is  interrupted  by  the  distant  rumbling  of 
thunder.  Then  the  march  is  finished,  and  when  the  pro- 
cession coming  out  of  the  temple  is  in  place  the  invocation 
begins,  and  the  choruses  respond  to  Cleopatra  by  repeat- 
ing the  strophes  that  she  disclaims.  This  invocation  is  at 
first  heavy,  grave  and  slow ;  it  increases  in  quickness  grad- 
ually, and  while  the  orchestra  symphonically  develops  the 


110  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

tempest  that  is  rising  the  choruses  go  on  augmenting  little 
by  little  in  intensity  until  at  last  the  whole  terminates  in 
the  midst  of  flashes  of  lightning  and  in  magnificent  out- 
bursts of  sonority.  Finally,  in  the  last  scene  of  this  act, 
there  is  an  interlude  during  the  deaths  of  Anthony  and  of 
Cleopatra,  which  incidental  morceau  is  composed  of  a 
fragment  of  the  priestly  prayers  in  the  preceding  scene 
and  by  the  interlude  in  D  flat  of  the  second  act. 

Alfred  de  Musset  has  said :  "  Rien  ne  nous  rend  si 
grande  qu'une  grande  douleur"  (Nothing  makes  us  so  great 
a  great  grief).  Dido  disappearing  in  a  cloud  of  flame,  suf- 
fering the  tortures  of  a  death  by  fire  rather  than  the  tor- 
ments of  betrayed  love  ;  Cleopatra  with  the  asp  at  her 
breast  bravely  facing  the  vastness  of  eternity ;  Sappho 
leaping  from  a  lonely  crag  into  the  sea,  appeal  to  our  im- 
aginations and  compel  our  sympathy.  Cleopatra  has  been 
sung  by  great  poets  for  centuries,  because  she  is  the  sym- 
bol of  the  power  of  that  passion  of  which  Schopenhauer 
said  that  if  there  were  but  one  more  like  it  the  world 
would  be  reduced  to  chaos.  A  small  soul  is  incapable  of 
love  in  its  noblest  form,  the  love  which  is  the  motive 
power  of  the  universe. 

Cleopatra,  the  courtesan  of  Shakespeare,  or  the  intel- 
lectual queen  of  her  latest  biographer,  Admiral  Jurien  de 
la  Graviere,  had  in  her  the  little  speck  of  divinity  which 
has  burned  through  all  these  centuries.  The  power  of 
self-sacrifice,  which  has  always  been  considered  the  great- 
est of  all,  was  hers.  She  had  not  the  complex  emotions 
of  the  modern  women  ;  she  was  swayed  by  the  element- 
ary but  powerful  passions  which  control  the  universe  (am- 
bition and  love),  their  power  unlessened  by  self  analysis  or 
subtle  reasoning  as  to  right  and  wrong. 

From  Horace  and  Plutarch  to  Shakespeare,  to  Victor 
Hugo  and  finally  to  M.  Sardou  the  tradition  of  Cleopatra's 


BERNHARDT'S   "LADY  MACBETH."  in 

fatal  charm  and  fascination  has  passed.  Each  one  has 
formed  his  own  ideal  and  undoubtedly  in  M.  Sardou's 
there  is  much  that  is  new  and  original.  Every  time  that 
Sara  Bernhardt  plays  a  new  part  she  is  herself  recreated. 
When  we  think  of  Theodora,  no  ideal  figure  rises  up  from 
the  mists  of  imagination,  but  Sara  is  before  us  as  she  stood 
looking  down  on  her  prostrate  lover,  exclaiming,  "  Let  all 
Byzantium  perish  so  long  as  I  have  him  here."  Sara's 
Lady  Macbeth  differed  entirely  from  the  traditions  of  the 
past,  the  sternness  and  masculine  hardness  of  the  Scotch 
heroine  being  merged  in  the  softness  and  snake-like  grace 
of  her  French  interpreter. 

Some  recent  actresses  have  done  more  to  soil  the  mem- 
ory of  Egypt's  queen  than  the  dust  of  all  the  ages  which 
have  passed  over  her  grave  to  be  swallowed  up  by  time. 
They  have  taken  away  our  ideal  of  her  without  giving  us 
one  return. 

Sara,  with  her  voice  of  gold,  her  lithe  and  symmetrical 
body,  her  magnetism  and  her  grace,  has  woven  the  scat- 
tered traditions  of  the  centuries  into  an  exquisite  and  liv- 
ing impersonation. 


XIV.— VENICE. 

1878. 

The  Great  Doge  Dandolo.— Tyranny  of  the  Medici.— The  Grand 
Canal. — Marino  Faliero,  the  Treacherous  Doge. — Venice  a 
Teacher  to  the  New  World. 

Like  the  Ancient  Mariner  we  are  afloat  on  a  wilder- 
ness of  water  where  the  warning  cry  of  the  gondolier  and 
the  dipping  of  oars  alone  break  the  monotony.  Our  gon- 
dola glides  silently  up  to  the  marble  palace,  and  we 
descend  the  stone  steps,  carpeted  with  green  sea  weed, 
which  in  times  gone  by  have  been  trodden  by  noble  Veni- 
tians,  whose  memory  has  long  since  died  away,  like  the 
echo  of  their  footsteps.  Around,  about  and  beneath  us  is 
the  sea. 

The  iron  horse  snorts  and  prances  under  the  very  eyes 
of  the  winged  lion  of  St.  Marc,  and  while  the  lion  speaks 
to  us  of  the  past,  and  of  those  grand  old  days  when  Ven- 
ice was  mistress  of  the  seas,  waging  wars  against  tyrants 
and  infidels,  planting  democracy  in  the  impregnable  for- 
tresses of  the  sea,  and  rescuing  the  bones  of  the  saints 
from  the  desecration  of  the  Saracen — the  other  tells  us  of 
a  greater  than  Venice  ever  was,  who  stole  away  her  pres- 
tige on  the  sea  and  has  built  on  the  rocks  a  Republic 
which  was  not  writ  in  water. 

But  one  does  not  come  to  Venice  to  hear  of  progress, 
but  to  gather  wisdom  from  the  Apocalyptic  lion  who  has 
seen  generations  pass  away  ;  who  has  looked  down  from 

112 


DOGE    DANDOLO.  113 

the  summit  of  his  granite  column  upon  the  Doges  and 
Dogheressas  as  they  passed  through  the  magnificent  Porta 
della  Casta,  in  and  out  of  the  ducal  palace ;  upon  the 
Council  of  Forty ;  the  ominous  Ten  ;  and  the  inexora- 
ble Inquisitors,  and  upon  those,  too,  who  to-day  passed 
before  him  in  all  the  pride  of  rank  and  fame,  and  to-mor- 
row, accused  by  a  slip  of  paper  secrectly  inserted  into  that 
fatal  receptacle  in  the  palace,  known  as  the  Lion's  Mouth, 
went  up  the  Giant's  staircase  and  passed  across  the  Bridge 
of  Sighs,  to  descend  into  those  dark  and  gloomy  prisons, 
whose  only  outlet  for  them  was  a  small,  arched  gate, 
hardly  large  enough  to  admit  of  their  headless  trunks  be- 
ing lowered  into  the  waiting  gondola.  A  darker  and  more 
forbidding  pile  than  those  prisons  can  hardly  be  imagined. 
Its  heavy,  black  masonry,  washed  bv  the  flowing  and  ebb- 
ing sea ;  its  windows  crossed  and  recrossed  by  massive 
iron  bars,  tell  us  more  plainly  than  words  can  speak  that 
all  who  enter  there  left  hope  behind.  The  first  tells  us 
that  the  very  column  on  which  he  stands  is  a  lasting  mon- 
ument to  the  bravery  of  Venice's  bravest  Doge,  Dandolo, 
who  at  the  age  of  92,  after  the  conquest  of  Constantinople, 
then  the  greatest  metropolis  in  the  world,  received  it  as 
part  of  the  spoils,  as  well  as  the  four  bronze  horses  which 
to  this  day  stand  on  the  fa9ade  of  Saint  Marc's  cathedral, 
after  having  been  taken  to  Paris  by  the  First  Napoleon 
and  returned  after  the  fall  of  the  empire. 

One  still  sees  his  house  on  the  grand  canal  small  and 
modest  compared  with  the  magnificent  palaces  which  sur- 
round it  on  every  side,  but  from  it  to  the  Ducal  Palace 
went  Venice's  greatest  Doge  and  most  victorious  general. 
Not  far  from  here  lived  for  a  short  time  the  Florentine 
patriot,  Philip  Strozzi,  who  fled  from  his  native  city  from 
the  tyranny  of  the  Medici,  and  took  refuge  in  Venice, 
bringing  with  him  his  beautiful  daughter,  of  whom  Savona- 


114  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

rola,  then  a  grave  and  serious  student,  was  so  deeply 
enamored  that  he  followed  her  to  Venice.  The  lion  tells 
us  how  the  young  student  was  wont  to  pass  before  him  in 
the  warm  summer  evenings,  with  his  head  bent  thought- 
fully downward  and  seemingly  alone  amidst  the  gay 
throng  which  was  wont  to  assemble  in  this  great  rendez- 
vous of  all  Venice.  But  when  the  fair  Strozzi  appeared, 
his  whole  attitude  changed,  and  he  ceased  to  ponder  upon 
those  studies  on  which  his  mind  was  always  fixed.  Thus 
he  strengthened  the  unhappy  passion  which  proved  the 
turning  point  of  his  life,  and  changed  him  from  the 
thoughtful  student  into  a  monk,  the  most  self-sacrificing 
and  devoted  of  the  brotherhood  in  the  old  Florentine 
monastery,  the  unknown  youth  into  the  greatest  orator 
and  greatest  martyr  of  the  Catholic  church.  The  lion  tells 
us  that  Venice  always  rewarded  her  patriots  with  the 
highest  honors ;  her  great  generals  who  did  not  die  sword 
in  hand  were  generally  elected  Doge,  and  the  families  of 
those  who  were  slain  in  battle  she  rewarded  in  the  most 
magnificent  manner.  But  she  punished  her  traitors,  for 
here  on  the  very  steps  of  the  ducal  palace  Marino  Faliero, 
the  treacherous  Doge,  was  beheaded,  and  we  see  now  in 
the  palace  the  place  where  once  hung  his  portrait,  draped 
in  black,  and  upon  it  in  golden  letters  these  words  :  "Hie 
esi  locus  Marini  Falieri  decapitate  pro  criminibus"  He 
tells  us  also  that  he  saw  here  exposed  between  the  column 
on  which  he  stands  and  its  companion,  the  body  of  that 
unfortunate  victim  of  the  mistaken  zeal  of  the  council  of 
Ten,  Antonio  Foscarini,  ambassador  at  various  courts  and 
later  a  senator.  He  was  accused  of  treason  and  convicted 
but  after  his  execution  his  chief  accuser  having  been  sum- 
moned before  the  council  for  other  crimes,  Foscarini's  in- 
nocence was  proved  and  the  Ten  moved  with  horror  and 
grief  did  all  in  their  power  to  reinstate  his  memory,  and 


VENICE   AND   THE   NEW  WORLD.  115 

erected  a  great  monument  to  him  in  the  church  of  the 
Frati.  The  lion  also  tells  us  that  clerical  misdemeanors 
were  punished  by  placing  their  victims  in  iron  cages  and 
suspending  them  in  the  air  from  that  beautiful  tower,  the 
campanile,  which  is  one  of  the  jewels  of  the  piazza.  There 
they  were  abandoned  until  hunger  and  exposure  should  do 
their  work.  With  an  exclamation  of  horror  we  turned  to 
look  at  the  beautiful  structure,  and  then  say  to  the  lion  : 
"  Ah,  well,  if  we  of  the  new  world  have  no  Titians  and 
Tintorettos,  no  Bellinis  and  Veroneses,  no  great  temples, 
barbaric  trophies  and  other  monuments  of  by-gone  ages, 
we  at  least  can  claim  in  compensation  kinder  hearts  and 
more  humane  instincts." 

"  No,"  replies  the  lion,  "  we  will  not  give  our  beautiful 
piazza  with  its  marble  arches,  its  tower  reaching  to  the 
sky,  our  St.  Marc  with  its  40,000  square  feet  of  mosaics, 
its  500  columns  of  porphyry  and  verd  antique,  its  Ma- 
donnas, painted  on  purest  gold  incrusted  with  rarest  jewels, 
its  pearl  altars  and  magnificent  marbles,  our  churches  with 
their  treasures  of  art,  in  return  for  your  boasted  progress 
as  depicted  so  short  a  time  ago  by  the  cruelties  practiced 
upon  the  helpless  negroes  on  your  Southern  plantations, 
and  upon  your  prisoners  of  war  in  the  Andersonville  and 
Libby  prisons,  and  even  now  by  the  atrocities  perpetrated 
against  the  black  man  to  prevent  him  from  profiting  by 
the  liberty  so  dearly  bought.  You  of  the  new  world  must 
not  flatter  yourselves  too  much,  for  while  you  have  none 
of  these  exhaustless  fountains  of  inspiration  to  which 
lovers  of  art  from  every  nation  on  the  globe  as  pilgrims 
turn  their  footsteps,  yet  your  history  will  bear  upon  its 
pages  as  many  blots  as  ours,  and  future  ages  as  they  read 
will  shudder  as  you  do  now.  And  not  only  the  lovers  of 
art  find  inspiration  in  Venice,  for  what  city  has  afforded 
so  much  material  and  inspiration  to  poets  and  romancers? 


n6  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

Here  Shakespeare  found  the  Jew  of  Rialto,  the  learned 
Portia,  the  jealous  Moor,  and  the  fair  Desdemona,  Byron 
his  Bridge  of  Sighs,  and  later  it  inspired  some  of  Rogers' 
most  poetic  verse,  and  Dickens'  weird  and  impressive 
dream." 

We  felt  that  we  could  not  answer,  and  turning  thought- 
fully away  to  our  gondola,  we  were  borne  through  laby- 
rinths of  small  canals  with  ancient  palaces  on  either  side, 
under  picturesque  century-old  bridges  of  stone  spanning 

,^r 

the  narrow  streets,  until  at  last  we  stopped  before  one  as 
gray  and  ancient  as  the  rest,  Petrarch's  house,  a  gift  from 
the  Republic  in  return  for  the  magnificent  library  he  gave 
to  the  people.  Here  lived  the  poet,  who,  a  true  Italian, 
had  but  one  motive  in  his  life,  love,  which  he  embodied 
forth  in  sonnets  so  enchanting,  and,  tho'  with  but  one 
theme,  so  varied  in  language  and  conceit,  that  each  time 
we  read  them  we  find  new  beauties  and  return  to  them 
again  and  again. 

The  grand  canal  opens  amidst  a  line  of  magnificent 
palaces,  built,  as  says  a  celebrated  French  author,  "  each 
one  apart  and  for  itself  but  having  assembled  without 
wishing  it  to  beautify."  Every  style  of  architecture  is 
here,  the  middle  age  with  its  trellised  balconies  and  rich 
sculptured  windows ;  the  gothic  in  all  its  fantastic  beauty 
and  its  lace  work  of  marble  ;  that  of  the  Renaissance  with 
its  antique  columns  ranged  one  above  the  other.  But 
the  rich  marble  and  gorgeous  mosaics  are  gray  with  age, 
and  only  regain  the  fresh  beauty  and  brilliant  coloring  of 
their  youth  when  for  an  instant  the  setting  sun  illuminates 
them  with  his  slanting  rays.  But  the  majesty  of  age  and 
the  pathetic  grandeur  of  decay  suit  better  Venice  and  her 
fallen  fortunes,  and  she  is  so  perfect  as  she  is  that  we 
could  not  wish  her  changed,  even  to  regain  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  past. 


BEAUTIFUL   BIANCA   CAPPELLO.  1 17 

Amid  the  palaces  is  one  which  the  Republic  bestowed 
upon  Catharine  Cornaro,  queen  of  Cyprus,  who  was  so 
patriotic  that  when  her  husband  died  bequeathing  to  her 
the  kingdom,  she  gave  it  to  Venice,  that  same  kingdom 
which  so  lately  an  illustrious  English  statesman  has 
wrested  from  the  barbarous  Turks  and  given  again  to  a 
queen.  Titian  has  immortalized  the  act  in  a  beautiful 
painting,  representing  her  as  giving  the  crown  to  Venice. 

A  little  farther  on  we  see  before  us  the  palace  in  which 
once  lived  the  beautiful  Bianca  Cappello.  We  see  the 
very  door  from  which  she  stole  away  in  the  gray  dawn  of 
morning  with  her  lover,  Pietro  Bonaventuro,  whom  she 
married  soon  after  in  Florence.  He  was  a  member  of  a 
great  mercantile  house,  and  consequently  far  below  her  in 
birth  and  station,  and  such  a  crime  was  it  for  a  daughter 
of  the  Venetian  nobility,  the  proudest  in  the  world,  thus  to 
demean  herself  that  she  was  forever  banished  from  her 
native  city,  and  a  price  put  upon  her  husband's  head.  She 
lived  in  Florence  in  an  obscure  position  until  chance  made 
her  known  to  the  Grand  Duke,  Francesco  de  Medici.  Her 
influence  upon  the  house  of  the  Medici  was  soon  manifest 
and  her  life  from  that  time  was  but  a  tissue  of  ruses  and 
intrigues.  Her  husband  was  soon  destined  to  lose  his  life 
mysteriously,  assassinated,  it  is  supposed,  followed  by  the 
vengeance  of  her  family,  for  in  ancient  Venice,  if  a  noble 
lady  married  thus  one  inferior  to  her,  the  head  of  the 
family  was  pledged  by  a  fearful  oath  to  kill  her  husband, 
herself  and  her  children,  even  if  he  were  forced  to  follow 
them  to  the  end  of  the  earth,  and  failing  to  do  this  other 
members  of  the  family  were  pledged  to  take  his  life. 
After  the  death  of  his  wife,  the  Grand  Duchess  of  Austria, 
more  and  more  fascinated  by  the  beautiful  Venetian,  the 
Grand  Duke  married  her.  Venice  then  recognized  her  as 
a  "  daughter  of  the  Republic."  Bianca  for  a  long  time 


Il8  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

directed  the  affairs  of  Florence  with  great  cleverness.  Her 
life  was  destined  to  end  as  tragically  as  the  unfortunate 
Pietro's,  for  she  and  the  Grand  Duke  were  both  poisoned  at 
a  magnificent  banquet,  it  is  supposed  by  his  brother,  the 
cardinal. 

Further  on,  opposite  the  island  of  Murano,  is  the  mag- 
nificent house  which  once  belonged  to  Titian,  and  where 
he  lived  for  many  years.  There  assembled  around  him  all 
there  was  noble  and  renowned  in  Venice,  then  so  power- 
ful and  so  glorious.  Titian  was  at  this  time  at  the  zenith 
of  his  glory.  He  was  the  idol  of  his  countrymen.  Fab- 
ulous sums  were  paid  for  his  pictures  and  so  great  was  his 
fame  that  Henry  III.,  when  visiting  Venice,  hastened  to 
seek  him  whom  he  called  "  the  greatest  of  all  the  marvels 
of  Venice."  What  visions  of  beauty  does  the  very  name 
of  Titian  bring  up  before  us  ;  forms  of  such  marvelous 
lovelinesss  that  it  scarcely  seems  possible  that  a  human 
hand  can  have  created  them.  While  regarding  them  we 
are  constrained  to  exclaim  with  his  ancient  rival  and  ene- 
my, Pordenone,  "  This  is  not  paint ;  it  is  flesh." 

After  all  what  pleases  us  most  in  Venice  is  not  her  pal- 
aces, her  churches,  her  great  pictures,  her  wonders  of 
architecture,  because  other  cities  possess  these  in  greater 
or  less  degree,  but  the  dolcefar  niente  of  gliding  about  in 
the  gondola,  dreaming  of  the  past  through  the  long  sunny 
days  and  the  starlit  nights,  or  listening  to  snatches  of  song 
coming  from  the  open  casements  as  we  move  quietly  and 
noiselessly  like  shadows  in  the  bright  moonlight.  Venice 
then  rises  before  us  in  all  her  loveliness.  Santa  Maria 
della  Salute  emerges  from  out  the  sea  like  a  great  exotic, 
the  marble  saints  upon  her  fa9ade  are  softened  by  those 
mellow  rays  and  seem  to  smile  upon  us,  and  beckon  us  to 
come  and  worship  as  we  drift  slowly  past.  The  beauty 
of  these  magnificent  old  palaces  is  enhanced  by  those  clear 


AN    OLD   TIME   SCENE.  119 

rays,  and  seem  to  us  to  be  peopled  with  spirits  out  of  the 
past.  We  seem  to  be  in  a  city  of  the  dead  ;  we  see  shad- 
owy forms  in  the  quaint  old  gothic  windows,  and  the 
richly  carved  balconies  which  have  stood  there  for  centu- 
ries ;  we  seem  to  see  noble  Venetian  ladies  in  rich  gar- 
ments of  a  long  forgotten  fashion  leaning  from  the  balco- 
nies listening  to  cavaliers  in  doublets  of  velvet  broidered 
with  gold  and  pearls,  as  they  sing  some  canzonette  in  the 
sweet  Venetian  dialect,  accompanied  by  the  quaint,  sweet 
strains  of  the  guitar  ;  we  seem  to  see  the  lights  of  thou- 
sands of  gondolas  reflected  in  the  clear  and  limpid  waters  ; 
but  now  the  moon  disappears  and  when  she  comes  from 
under  the  jealous  clouds  all  that  fair  throng  has  vanished 
and  we  are  alone  upon  the  bosom  of  the  sea. 


XV.— ADDRESS— PARIS. 

1878. 

DISCOURS  DE  MLLE.  GRAHAME  JONES. 

Address  by  Genevieve  Grahame  Jones  at  the  Interna- 
tional  Women's    Rights  Congress,   Paris,   1878,   where, 
with  little  notice,  she  took  the  place  of  the   mother  who 
was  too  ill  to  speak. 
"  Monsieur  le  President, 

"Amis,  compatriotes  et  confreres  du  Congres  interna- 
tional re"uni  spour  discuter  le  droit  des  femmes,  permettez- 
moi  de  vous  exprimer  la  sympathie  de  1'Association 
Nationale  d'Ame"rique  que  j'ai  1'honneur  de  repre*senter. 

"Je  vous  fe"licite  de  ce  jour  important  et  sublime,  de 
cette  ville  si  propice  a  la  reunion  du  Congres. 

"Paris,  e"blouissant  sous  son  monarque;  centre  de  la 
beaute",  'du  ge"nie  et  de  la  chevalerie;  plein  d'attraits  a 
l'e"poque  ou  1'empereur  tenait  le  monde  dans  1'enchante- 
ment,  Paris  est  aujourd  'hui  sans  roi,  sans  empereur,  sans 
cour,  plus  grand,  plus  beau,  plus  influent  que  jamais! 

"Anjourd'hui,  Paris  est  le  point  vers  lequel  les  pe"lerins 
de  toutes  nations  dirigent  leurs  pas  impatients ;  la  brise 
embaume'e  nous  arrive,  charged  des  dialectes  de  tous  les 
pays. 

"Non-seulement  tous  les  produits  des  diffe"rents  points 
de  la  terre  sont  repre'sente's  aux  nombreux  congres  tenus 
pendant  cette  grande  f£te  de  la  liberte",  de  la  paix  et  du 
travail,  mais  encore  chaque  noble  pense*e,  chaque  ide"e 
nouvelle,  chaque  motif  e'leve'  y  est  expos£  aux  yeux  du 

120 


ADDRESS    AT    PARIS.  121 

monde.  Arts,  musique,  literature,  science,  religion,  Edu- 
cation, philosophic,  travail,  chacun  a  eu  ses  avocats  e*lo- 
quents. 

"A  cette  Epoque  ou  les  grands  de  la  terre  se  re"unissent 
pour  penser  et  discuter,  quand  chaque  esprit  et  chaque 
conscience  n'ont  que  de  nobles  aspirations,  combien  il  est 
a  propos  que  la  femme  trouve  des  auditeurs  et  des  avocats; 
la  femme,  dont  le  travail,  la  richesse,  1'intelligence  ont 
cimente"  chaque  pierre  des  monuments  ElevEs  par  les 
hommes;  la  femme  qui  hait  la  guerre,  qui  a  6t6  opprimde, 
qui  veillait  lorsqu'on  dormait,  qui  travaillait  pendant  qu'on 
tuait  et  volait,  la  femme  qui  est  morte  en  prison  et  sous  la 
guillotine  pour  la  liberte1. 

"  Comme  enfant  d'AmeYique,  j'aime  et  je  revere  la 
France.  Nous  ne  pouvons  pas  oublier  La  Fayette,  quoi- 
que  cent  ans  se  soient  e'coule's,  depuis  que  la  ge'ne'reuse 
France  1'envoya  a  notre  aide,  lorsque  nous  luttions  pour 
la  libertE ;  comme  femme,  je  me  glorifie  en  elle.  Toute 
vraie  femme  aime  et  honore  la  France;  la  France,  dont  le 
sol  fertile  engendre  et  nourrit  les  ide"es  de  progres,  en  d^pit 
des  rois,  des  empereurs,  des  pr£tres  ou  des  tyrans;  la 
France,  patrie  du  savant  et  du  penseur;  la  France,  asile 
gEne"reusement  ouvert  aux  femmes  qui  cherchaient  les 
avantages  intellectuels  qu'on  leur  refusait  dans  leur  pays; 
la  France  qui  obligea  la  rEpublicaine  AmErique  et  1'Angle- 
terre  civilised  a  ouvrir  leurs  institutions  aux  femmes;  la 
France,  patrie  d'une  quantite*  de  femmes  dont  le  g^nie 
e'leve',  les  vies  Edifiantes,  et  les  morts  he>oiques  ont  encour- 
age", inspirE  celles  qui  essayaient  de  se  de"livrer  des  entraves 
ignominieuses  que  la  suite  des  siecles  avaient  rive"es  apres 
elles. 

"II  est  done  naturel  que  les  femmes  de  toutes  les 
nations  se  re"unissent  sur  le  sol  libre  de  la  France,  pour 
publier  a  la  face  du  monde  la  Declaration  de  leurs  droits. 


122  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

"Aujourd'hui  nous  joignons  les  mains,  et  nous  consac- 
rons  nos  coeurs  a  la  cause  sacr^e  de  Emancipation  des 
femmes ;  aujourd'hui  nous  nous  r^unissons  pour  remercier 
la  France  de  ses  femmes  superieures  dont  les  nobles 
paroles  nous  arrivent  sans  cesse  et  qui  viennent  jusqu'  a 
present,  nous  guider  et  nous  encourager. 

"Au  nom  des  femmes  de  mon  pays,  qui  ont  inaugure" 
et  dirigent  le  mouvement  du  droit  des  femmes  en  Ame"- 
rique;  au  nom  de  ces  dloquents  et  ardents  avocats  de  la 
liberte",  aussi  bien  pour  les  hommes  que  pour  les  femmes, 
pour  les  noirs  comme  pour  les  blancs ;  au  nom  des  officiers 
de  1'Association  nationale  d'  Ame'rique;  au  nom  de  ces 
nobles  femmes,  Lucretia  Mott,  Elizabeth  Cady  Stanton, 
Susan  B.  Anthony,  je  salue  les  femmes  de  France  et  du 
monde  assemblies  a  ce  Congres,  et  je  leur  souhaite  la 
protection  de  Dieu. 

"  Lorsque  nous  nous  rappelons  ce  qui  a  6t6  fait  par  les 
femmes  de  tous  les  pays,  nous  nous  sentons  le  courage  de 
tenter  de  nouveaux  efforts.  En  Ame'rique,  nous  avons 
accompli  des  merveilles,  et  cependant  nous  demandons 
davantage;  nous  demanderons  jusqu'a  ce  que  nous  ayons 
1'^galite"  dans  1'Etat,  dans  1'Eglise,  dans  la  maison. 

"  II  y  a  vingt  ans,  la  femme  n'entrait  dans  les  cours  de 
justice  qu'en  criminelle,  maintenant  elle  y  entre  en  avocat 
pour  plaider  la  cause  de.la  justice  et  invoquer  1'esprit  de  la 
cle"mence.  II  y  a  vingt  ans  la  femme  n'entrait  dans 
une  chambre  de  malade  qu'en  qualite"  de  garde,  peu 
re'mune'r^e;  maintenant  c'est  un  conseiller,  un  ami,  un 
me"decin  en  qui  1'on  a  confiance. 

"Aujourd'hui,  elle  est,  sous  beaucoup  de  rapports, 
IMgale  de  1'homme;  demain  elle  le  sera  a  tous  les  points  de 
vue. 

"  Qui  peut  pre"dire  1'influence  que  ce  Congres  aura  sur 


ADDRESS   AT   PARIS.  123 

1'avancement  de  la  femme,  sur  cet  avancement  vers  la  par- 
faite  e'galite'  que  demandant  la  justice  et  1'humanite1? 

"  Femmes  de  France  et  de  tons  les  pays,  ayez  bon  courage 
et  continuez  a  vous  occuper  activement  de  cette  cause,  car 
de  1'e'le'vation  de  la  femme  depend  le  progre"s  du  monde!" 

(Bra-vos  prolonges.) 


XVI.— COQUELIN. 
COQUELIN  IN  CHICAGO. 

The  Chicago  Morning  News  requested  criticism  in 
French  of  the  performance  of  M.  Coquelin  and  Mrs.  Grant 
wrote  on  invitation  as  follows: 

Quand  on  se  dit  Parisien,  c'est  avec  le  me'me  sentiment 
d'orgueil  qu'on  disait  autrefois  civ  is  romanus  sum.  On  le 
considere  quasi  comme  titre  d'honneur,  puisque  Paris  est 
le  centre  de  la  civilisation  moderne.  Quand  on  est  cou- 
ronnd  artiste  a  Paris,  tout  est  dit,  le  monde  entier  accepte  ce 
jugement  sans  question.  Mais,  quand  on  est  a  la  fois 
artiste  et  Parisien,  comme  Monsieur  Coquelin,  la  combi- 
naison  ne  laisse  rien  a  de"sirer.  Sa  demarche  a  la  fois 
l^gere  et  gracieuse  qui  rapelle  le  boulevard,  son  sourire 
moqueur,  reflet  de  tant  de  bons-mots,  dits  ou  entendus  par 
lui  dans  cette  socie'te'  Parisienne,  ou  1'esprit  est  le  seul 
souverain,  ce  haussement  d'e"paules  qui  exprime  mille 
choses,  mais  qui  ne  compromet  pas,  la  purete"  classique  de 
son  francais,  ses  gestes  pleins  de  grace,  fideles  serviteurs 
qui  expriment  ses  pense"es  aussi  bien  que  feraient  les 
paroles  —  tout  montre  le  vrai  Parisien.  II  est  maitre  de 
toutes  les  finesses  de  la  langue  franyaise,  cette  langue 
pleine  de  sous-entendus,  de  nuances  dedicates  qu'il  faut 
saisir  au  vol,  de  phrases  courtes,  mais  riches  en  significa- 
tion. L'art  est  toujours  1'imitation  de  la  nature,  mais  imi- 
ter  bien  n'est  pas  tout.  Une  photographic  en  est  une  imi- 
tation bien  exacte,  mais  pour  cela  elle  n'est  pas  une  ceuvre 

124 


COQUELIN   IN   CHICAGO.  125 

d'art.  II  faut  que  chaque  oeuvre  d'art  ait  cette  touche  de 
vie  que  seulement  1'homme  de  ge"nie  sait  donner.  Dans 
les  livres,  dans  les  peintures,  sur  la  scene,  dans  la  musique, 
si  1'artiste  ne  sait  pas  donner  cette  touche  magique,  son 
travail  restera  toujours  mediocre.  Monsieur  Coquelin  la 
donne  toujours.  Nous  rions,  nouspleurons  avec  le  bon  Noel, 
ce  vieux  serviteur  deVoue",  simple  comme  un  enfant,  mais 
se  croyant  un  vieux  renard  de  ruse.  C'est  un  type  qui 
malheureusement  n'existe  plus,  excepte"  peut-etre  dans 
quelques  vieux  chateaux  perdus  au  fond  de  province. 
Monsieur  Coquelin,  ce  Parisien  des  Parisiens,  disparait, 
nous  oublions  le  grand  artiste,  nous  ne  voyons  que  le  bon 
vieux  domestique.  C'est  la  plus  grande  preuve  du  ge"nie 
de  Monsieur  Coquelin  qu'il  puisse  se  faire  oublier. 

Quand  le  rideau  se  leve  sur  "Les  Pr^cieuses  Ridicules  " 
nous  nous  trouvons  en  plein  dix  septieme  siecle.  Mme. 
de  Rambouillet,  la  belle  Julie,  Mlle.de  Scuddry,  Racan  ex- 
istaient  encore  et  donnaientce  ton  de  raffinement  a  la  societe 
fran$aise  qui  la  domine  jusqu'aujourd'hui.  On  bannissait 
tout  ce  qui  e"tait  mate'rialisme,  on  che>issait  le  beau.  On 
inventait  ces  nouvelles  paroles  dont  on  discutait  les  me"rites  et 
les  de"me>ites  pendant  des  soirees  entieres.  Chaque  cavalier 
avait  sa  dame  qu'il  adorait  plus  ou  moins  platoniquement 
pendant  des  anne'es,  qu'il  addressait  plutot  comme  de"esse 
que  comme  femme.  On  ne  s'e"tonne  done  pas  que 
Mesdemoiselles  Cathos  et  Madelon  trouverent  qu'un 
roman  qui  de"butait  par  le  manage,  e"tait  peu  romanesque, 
surtout  quand  leurs  ide"es  e"taient  formers  d'apres  les  romans 
de  Mile  ScudeYy  qui  ne  trouvait  pas  trente  volumes  suffi- 
sants  pour  raconter  les  amours  de  ses  heroines  et  de  leurs 
galants. 

On  cherchait  a  se  perfectionner  dans  tout  ce  qu'il  y  avait 
de  beau  de  pogtique  de  raffing.  Cet  esprit  se  re"pandit  dans 
toute  la  France,  et  dans  "  Les  Prdcieuses  Ridicules"  nous 


126  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

en  voyons  les  fruits.  Meme  les  valets  cultivaient  le  bel- 
esprit  en  imitant  leurs  maitres.  Mascarille  est  1'incarna- 
tion  de  la  drdlerie.  Encore  M.  Coquelin  s'efface  et  Mas- 
carille creation  de  1'art  du  XVIIieme  siecle,  reparait  au 
dix-neuvieme,  aussi  frais,  aussi  malin,  aussi  plaisant  qu'il 
I'e'tait  dans  les  premiers  jours  de  sa  creation,  rendu  a  une 
vie  nouvelle  par  le  ge'nie  de  M.  Coquelin. 

Nous  conseillons  aux  dames  qui  frisent  le  ridicule  en 
posant  comme  femmes  lettr^es  quand  elles  ne  sont  que  des 
pe"dantes,  de  saisir  cette  occasion  de  bien  e"tudier  "  Les  Pre"- 
cieuses  Ridicules."  Si  nous  avions  un  Moliere  parmi  nous, 
il  trouverait  sans  difficult^,  m6me  en  ne  s'^cartant  pas  de 
la  veYite*,  de  quoi  e"crire  quelque  chose  de  tout  aussi  amu- 
sant  sur  nos  Pr^cieuses  d'aujourd'hui. 


LETTERS. 


XVII.— LETTERS. 

From  Frederick  Leighton  : 

NAPLES,  September  20,  1892. 

DEAR  MRS.  GRANT  : — Your  very  amiable  note  of  the 
first  reaches  me,  you  see,  in  Italy.  Let  me  at  once  say 
with  what  sincere  pleasure  I  learn  that  the  grave  appre- 
hensions you  had  been  led  to  entertain  in  regard  to  your 
health  have  proved  illusory,  and  that  you  are  now  again 
well  and  strong,  an  announcement  on  which  I  base  a  hope 
that  you  will  some  day,  allow  me  again  to  show  you  the 
studio  of  which  you  are  good  enough  to  retain  a  pleasant 
memory.  As  regards  your  question  and  your  request,  I 
will  say  of  the  first  that  the  moulding  of  the  natures  of 
the  extremely  young  is  the  most  weighty  and  pregnant  of 
all  tasks.  Are  they  not  the  ones  out  of  which  the  coming 
generations  will  be  directly  and  indirectly  fashioned?  And 
of  the  second,  that  I  will  gladly  aid  your  work  by  making 
and  signing  a  little  sketch  in  black  and  white  lines — as 
that  is  what  you  require — but  must  ask  you  to  wait  for  it 
till  I  return  to  England  in  October. 

I  am  very  glad  that  my  "  Hesperides"  gave  you  pleas- 
ure; it  may  interest  you  to  know  that  they  will  be  seen,  I 
hope  at  Chicago,  where  I  am  anxious  to  be  well  repre- 
sented. 

Pray  remember  me  kindly  to  Mrs.  Palmer  and  give 
my  love  to  Hattie  Hosmer,  my  old  friend. 

Very  truly  yours, 

FRED  LEIGHTON. 
127 


128  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

From  "Max  O'Rell"  (Paul  Blouet): 

MILWAUKEE,  March  7,  1888. 

DEAR  MRS.  GRANT  : — I  was  a  little  annoyed,  when 
getting  out  of  the  cab  you  kindly  got  for  me  last  night,  to 
see  that  it  had  been  ordered  at  your  expense.  It  will  make 
me  more  careful  in  future  to  engage  a  cab  myself. 

May  I  beg  your  acceptance  of  a  little  volume  of  School 
Recollections,  published  in  New  York  a  few  days  ago? 
I  hope  that  your  knowledge  of  French  will  enable  you  to 
enjoy  a  few  striking  examples  of  "  French  as  she  is  tra- 
duced." 

Please  to  remember  me  kindly  to  your  family.  Believe 
me,  dear  Mrs.  Grant,  with  kind  regards, 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

PAUL  BLOUET. 

From  Wilson  Barrett: 

ST.  Louis,  February  10,  1890. 

DEAR  MRS.  GRANT  : — I  could  not  shake  the  smoke- 
dust  of  Chicago  from  my  hat  without  sending  my  warm- 
est regards  to  your  whole  household. 

I  was  much  troubled  by  Miss  Eastlake's  illness  and 
the  consequent  changes  of  cast  and  programme.  I  had 
to  play  nine  times  during  the  week,  and  so  had  no  time  to 
devote  to  my  friends.  It  was  a  loss  to  me  not  to  see  you 
all  again. 

Will  you  tell  me  what  you  thought  of  "  Now-a-days?" 
Exactly  what  you  think. 

Please  give  my  kindest  regards  to  mamma  and  to  my 
friends,  and  believe  me, 

Faithfully, 

WILSON  BARRETT. 


LETTERS.  129 

From  George  P.  Lathrop  to  Mrs.  Grant : 

NEW  LONDON,  CONN.,  March  12,  1890. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  GRANT:  I  hope  you  will  pardon 
me  for  my  own  loss  in  not  having  called  upon  you  after 
the  charming  luncheon  which  you  so  kindly  gave  in  honor 
(I  suppose)  of  my  humble  self.  My  time  in  Chicago  was 
very  short,  considering  the  many  things  there  were  to  be 
done;  and  I  think  you  will  understand,  readily,  how  I 
became  so  tangled  in  business  and  social  engagements 
already  formed,  that  it  was  at  last  impossible  to  make  the 
calls  which  I  had  wished  to  make. 

This  note  must  be  my  pour  prendre  conge;  but  please 
don't  pun  upon  it  and  call  it  a  poor  excuse. 

I  trust  there  may  be  opportunity  in  the  not  distant  fu- 
ture for  me  to  come  to  Chicago  again,  and  present  myself 
instead  of  a  letter.        I  will  send  this  in  care  of  Major 
Kirkland,  since  I  have  not  your  precise  address  at  hand. 
Very  cordially  yours, 

G.  P.  LATHROP. 

From  Remenyi,  the  violinist,  to  Mrs.  Grant  : 

JANUARY  4,  1893. 

A  happy  new  year  to  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Grant,  and 
give  the  same  wish  to  Mrs.  Jones. 

From  your  very  devoted  old  gentleman  fiddler, 

ED.  REMENYI. 

From  Sir  Frederick  Leighton  to  Mrs.  Grant : 

2   HOLLAND  PARK  ROAD, 

KENSINGTON,  W. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  GRANT:  I  read  with  unfeigned  re- 
gret what  you  tell  me  about  your  health.  I  gather  that 
you  are  about  to  leave  this  damp  island  at  once.  I  trust 
that  you  will  derive  as  much  benefit  as  pleasure  from 


130  GENEVIEVE  GRAHAME  GRANT. 

your  stay  in  the  south  ( I  should  "  opt "  for  Egypt  if  I 
were  you — a  dahabeah  on  the  Nile),  and  you  will  return 
to  us  strong  and  well  next  season.  Meanwhile  I  remain, 
with  kind  regards  to  Mrs.  Fernando  Jones, 

Sincerely  yours, 

FRED  LEIGHTON. 

From  Morris  Moore  to  Mrs.  Grant : 

HOME,  Christmas  Eve,  1875. 

And  so,  faithless  Miss  Genevieve  (yes,  faithless)  you 
complain  of  my  having  reserved  no  place  for  your 
Mightiness  in  my  penultimate  letter  to  your  mamma. 
Pray  did  you  find  any  place  in  hers  especially  for  me  ?  I 
feel  having  been  cruelly  used  by  you ;  neither  more  nor 
less  than  jilted.  True,  some  of  the  blame  rests  on  my 
being  a  prosy  old  fellow,  and  not  one  of  those  gay  cava- 
liers who  sang  sonnets  and  sighed  under  your  balcony. 

I  should  be  very  angry  with  you  if  you  were  not  such 
a  fascinating  little  maiden,  so  fond  of  home  and  Italy. 
We  daily  speak  of  you  more  or  less,  but  oftener  more. 
Your  portraits  are  en  evidence  on  the  table  in  our  sitting- 
room.  We  too,  think  of  your  "walking"  in,  and  most 
earnestly  wish  it.  Methinks  I  see  you  there  shedding 
from  those  blue  eyes  a  sweet  light  upon  dark  old  algebra. 
How  jolly  the  old  science  must  feel  at  such  a  flirtation. 

I  enclose  you  an  account  of  our  platonic  banquet  on 
the  6th  inst.,  with  Count  Maniani's  speech  in  full, 
and  Morris'  Latin  distich.  I  also  regret  with  your 
mamma  and  you  that  the  Apollo  and  Marsyas  and  the 
Michel  Angelo  are  not  to  be  placed  in  a  public  gallery  in 
America.  I  fear  it  is  as  your  eminent  art  critic  C.  C. 
says,  that  America  is  still  buying  canvases,  not  master- 
pieces. Charles  Elliot  Norton,  that  consummate  con- 
noisseur and  critic,  has  long  been  trying  to  arouse  Ameri- 


LETTERS.  131 

cans  to  the  importance  of  securing  the  Apollo  for  Amer- 
ica. He  met  with  the  same  lack  of  appreciation  that  your 
mamma  complains  of.  The  Apollo  will  undoubtedly  go 
to  the  Louvre,  the  Michel  Angelo  to  Vienna.  To- 
morrow, Christmas  Day,  we  dine  with  the  Maniani's. 
Last  Friday  we  went  to  tea  at  the  Grand  Duke  of  Leuch- 
tenbourg's.  I  there  met  a  grande  signore  who  asked  me 
when  the  signorina  Americana,  who  resembles  an  angel 
of  Botticelli,  was  coming  back.  We  like  your  compa- 
triots, the  Consul  General  and  Madame  Dahlgren  very 
much.  We  went  to  them  last  Saturday  ;  they  inquired 
for  you. 

And,  now,  gentle  Fairy  of  the  Lake,  I  must  tell  you 
that  I  never  pass  that  balconial  first  floor  in  the  Corse 
without  looking  wistfully  up  and  fancying  you  all  there. 
We  miss  your  youthful  sweetness  and  gaiety  in  this 
ancient  city,  and  trust  you  will  soon  leave  that  rude  cli- 
mate and  return  to  sunny  Italy,  where  you  naturally 
belong. 

Love  to  yourself,  the  Messieurs  Jones,  j>ere  etjHs^  and 
to  her  dainty  ladyship,  your  mamma.  All  of  this  from 
Morris  and  myself. 

Believe  me  truly  and  affectionately  yours, 

MORRIS  MOORE. 

From  Emily  Faithful  to  Mrs.  Grant  : 

50  NORFOLK  SQUARE,  HYDE  PARK,  Saturday. 

DEAREST  GENEVIEVE:  We  talk  of  you  continually, 
but  have  been  so  driven  and  worried,  with  the  house 
crammed,  and  this  miserable  lawsuit,  that  sometimes  I 
don't  know  how  to  get  on. 

I  start  for  the  North  on  Thursday  for  a  five  weeks' 
lecturing  tour,  and  my  lectures  are  not  yet  completed. 
Poor  Pat  is  quite  overdone.  Altogether  we  have  not 


132  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

been  cheerful.  Poor  Lady  Franklin  is  very  ill.  I  am 
quite  anxious  about  her.  She  always  inquires  for  you,  as 
does  also  Lady  Brassey,  and  your  many  London  friends. 
If  you  will  answer  at  once,  and  tell  me  where  to  direct, 
we  will  both  write  to  you  while  on  our  travels.  We 
never  forget  how  happy  your  mamma  made  us  in  Chicago, 
and  we  want  you  both  back  in  London. 

Ever  and  always  yours  affectionately, 

FIDELIO,  THE  BEAR. 

From  James  Jackson  Jarves  to  Mrs.  Grant : 

98  BOYLSTON  STREET,  BOSTON,  Dec.,  1885. 

DEAR  MRS.  GRANT  : — Yours  and  Mr.  Grant's  letter 
with  the  cheque  followed  me  here.  I  thank  you  for  same. 
Before  giving  the  Casafranca  to  the  packers  I  examined 
it,  and  found  it  in  perfect  condition;  a  fine  specimen  of 
1 6th  century  work.  I  am  busy  preparing  my  affairs  to 
return  to  Italy.  We  hope  to  be  able  to  buy  a  villa  near, 
or  in,  Rome.  It  would  be  delightful  to  have  you  for 
neighbors.  I  have  sent  your  message  to  my  wife.  I 
think  you  will  soon  hear  from  her.  I  leave  my  remain- 
ing "roba"  in  charge  of  W.  K.  Codman,  149  Tremont 
street.  He  is  a  professional  decorator  and  architect  of 
best  standing  and  taste,  one  of  the  blue  bloods  of  Boston 
who  prefers  work  to  idleness. 

With  cordial  remembrances  and  New  Year's  wishes, 
Ever  truly  yours, 

JAMES  JACKSON  JARVES. 

From  Emily  Crawford  to  Mrs.  Grant's  mother  : 

Dear  Mrs.  Grant   was  lovely  in   body  and    in  mind. 

What  a  charming  combination  she  was  of  fine  culture  and 

originality  !     She  was  so  spontaneous  and  so  sparkling  ; 

so  amusing,  so  genial  and  so  refined  ;  those  sallies  of  hers 


LETTERS.  133 

were  so  tempered  by  exquisite  taste.  Her  conversation 
was,  as  the  French  say,  so  attachante.  It  was  strange 
how  lovely  she  became,  as  if  to  tempt  death  to  carry  her 
away.  I  often  trembled  at  the  sudden  bloom  of  beauty 
that  showed  itself  in  her.  She  seemed  then  to  have 
everything  the  heart  wished  for,  and  my  experience  is  that 
when  in  this  unfortunate  world  we  get  to  that  point,  a 
bolt  from  the  blue  is  sure  to  strike  us.  This  world  must 
be  a  penal  settlement,  or  perhaps  a  school,  or  both,  and  it 
would  upset  the  general  arrangements  were  any  mortal  to 
have  exquisite  happiness  unless  by  fits  and  starts,  just  as 
holidays  are  allowed  to  children. 

Je  vous  embrasse  de  coeur,  bien  chere  amie.     Kiss  for 
me  your  darling  baby*  and  believe  me  ever 
Yours  affectionately, 

EMILY  CRAWFORD. 

*A  reference  to   Leslie,  the   orphan  daughter  of  George  Kowswell  and 
Genevieve  Grahame  Grant. 

From  Rev.  David  Swing  to  Mrs.  Grant's  mother : 

66  LAKE  SHORE  DRIVE,  March  14,  1894. 

DEAR  FRIEND  :      Your  gift  just  received  recalled  a 

dear  face.     I  am  sorry  for  your  home.     But  all  the  homes 

on  earth  are  thus  to  be  thrown  into  shadow.     I  hope  there 

is  a  home  elsewhere  for  you  and  yours  and  mine  and  me. 

DAVID  SWING. 


MEMORIALS. 


XVIII.— MEMORIALS. 

THE  TWENTIETH  CENTURY  CLUB,  CHICAGO. 

March   10,  1894. 

The  General  Committee  of  the  Twentieth  Century 
Club,  at  this  meeting  held  on  the  loth  of  March,  1894, 
desires  to  express  its  own  great  sorrow,  as  well  as  that  of 
the  body  which  it  represents,  at  the  death,  on  the  2yth  of 
last  month,  of  Mrs.  George  Rowswell  Grant. 

The  sense  of  loss  is  peculiarly  keen,  not  only  because 
of  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Grant  was  untiring  in  her  activity 
on  behalf  of  the  club,  and  in  her  devotion  to  its  interests, 
during  the  nearly  five  years  of  its  existence,  but  also 
because  the  inception  of  the  Club  was  entirely  her  own 
idea,  and  its  succes  was  due  to  her  efforts  more  largely 
than  to  those  of  any  other  person  connected  with  it.  At 
the  time  of  her  death  she  filled  the  office  of  Secretary  of 
the  Club,  to  which  she  had  been  elected  at  the  beginning 
of  the  Club's  existence  in  1889,  which  she  had  occupied 
continuously  from  that  time  on,  and  in  which  she  had 
distinguished  herself  by  her  adherence  to  the  serious 
ideals  proposed  for  itself  by  the  Club  at  the  outset.  For 
these  services,  as  well  as  for  her  many  lovable  personal 
qualities,  she  endeared  herself  to  all  who  became  asso- 
ciated with  her  in  the  work  of  the  Club,  and  will  ever  be 
held  by  them  in  tender  and  grateful  remembrance. 

To  the  sorrow-stricken  members  of  her  own  family  it 
is  desired  to  make  this  formal  expression  of  a  sympathy 
and  a  grief  not  easily  to  be  framed  in  words,  and  to  them 
a  copy  of  these  resolutions  is  ordered  to  be  transmitted. 

137 


138  GENEVIEVE   GRAHAME   GRANT. 

It  is  furthermore  ordered  that  a  note,  setting  forth  her 
peculiar  relations  with  the  club  be  printed  in  all  future 
editions  of  the  book  annually  published  by  the  Club,  and 
containing  its  lists  of  meetings  and  of  membership. 

WILLIAM  MORTON  PAYNE, 

Secretary. 

STANDING    NOTE    IN    TWENTIETH    CENTURY   CLUB    BOOK. 

$n  l&nnottam. 

In  the  death  of  MRS.  GEORGE  ROWSWELL  GRANT, 
on  the  twenty-seventh  of  February,  1894,  The  Twentieth 
Century  Club  suffered  a  loss  of  more  than  common  sig- 
nificance. MRS.  GRANT  was  the  founder  of  the  Club, 
and  acted  as  its  Secretary  from  the  date  of  its  organiza- 
tion in  1889  to  the  time  of  her  death.  During  those  five 
years  she  was  untiring  in  her  devotion  to  the  interests  of 
the  Club,  and  its  success  was  due  to  her  efforts  more 
largely  than  to  those  of  any  other  person  connected  with 
it.  At  a  meeting  of  the  General  Committee  held  on  the 
tenth  of  March,  1894,  resolutions  embodying  the  above 
facts  were  formally  adopted,  and  it  was  ordered  that  this 
memorial  note  be  printed  in  all  future  issues  of  the  annual 
Book  of  the  Club. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBANA 


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